The Days We Break
by Honor Reid
Summary: It has been a month since Timothy was abandoned by his mother and sent to live with his father, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  As Tim settles in to a very different life, he gets to know his new family, makes his first friend, and searches for his mom.  This leads to a very dangerous confrontation. (Sequel to my story Marching On)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Sequel to my story _Marching On_. A huge thank you to my beta naemi who really brought this story to another level and who is very patient with me. Thank you so much to my artist pe1804 they gave me such gorgous art that really captured the story I am trying to tell. I will try to link their art on my profile. Written for ncis big bang. Also thank you to the mods for organizing this challenge! The title is from the song Marchin' On by One Republic.

 **Warnings:** Domestic violence, violence against a child/teen, past neglect and abuse mentions. Panic attacks, flashbacks, and PTSD mentions. Also mentions of underage prostitution, nothing graphic.

* * *

 _We'll have the days we break  
And we'll have the scars to prove it  
We'll have the bonds that we save  
But we'll have the heart not to lose it_

 _-Marching On by One Republic_

 **~NCIS~**

 _Friday_

When Tim saw the number fifty-seven flash on the electronic message board above the doorway to the computer lab, he jumped up and almost gave a loud whoop. Thankfully, he remembered his surroundings just in time and instead did a mini fist pump. The librarian manning the desk closest to the lab just put a finger up to her lips, gave him his key card, and pointed out the rules tacked up on the wall. Nodding and thanking her quietly, Tim found computer #4 and quickly slid into the plastic chair. He grabbed the mouse and started scrolling over the various icons trying figure out what each one did. He didn't have much time as Jackson would be out front of the library in a half-hour to pick him up.

It had been two weeks since Tim had started attending school on a regular basis. _It sucks_ was his official opinion. He had missed a lot, so he was behind in all of his classes, and the kids hadn't exactly been welcoming. They all had their own cliques and had given him a wide berth. It was a bit lonely, but Tim was used to not having any friends. The way his mother and him had moved around didn't exactly foster long-term friendships. At the same time, he was enjoying having a routine for once, and most of the classes were interesting, so he was soaking up the new information like a sponge.

Since he was so far behind, he was put into an intensive tutoring program that was a joint venture between four school districts. Three times a week, the students in the program were bused to the downtown library after school, where Tim would then work with a tutor in Math, English, and Science for a couple of hours. At the end of each unit, he would take a test and, upon passing move on to the next unit. It was tough going, but he was making progress. Jackson had been tapped to pick him up around five, then they would go home, and Jackson would make dinner. Tim would do his homework, and at some point in the evening, Gibbs would come home. Tim was actually done with tutoring at four-thirty, but he had lied to both Gibbs and Jackson. He honestly felt bad about that . . . he did. They had been nothing but kind and giving to him. But Tim needed the extra half hour at the library in order have access to a computer. Gibbs didn't own one and the ones at school were monitored.

Tim desperately needed to locate his mom quickly, and he hoped he would find information on the Internet that would lead him to her. He had heard that you could unearth anything and anyone on the internet. Unfortunately, in his travels with his mom he could count on one hand the number of times he had even touched a computer, much less actually sat down at one and tried to achieve something.

Finally, he started clicking on a few of the icons out of desperation. He managed to open a word document, some sort of art program, and a music program that blared out opera music. The earsplitting sound made everyone in the lab turn and stare at him. Embarrassment caused sweat to break out on his forehead as the music continued to play until Tim in a panic started randomly clicking on stuff in an attempt to get the computer to shut down.

Tim started a bit when an arm clad in a dark blue jean came over his shoulder and a hand with a wrist covered in leather bands pushed his hand off the mouse. With unerring accuracy and one click, the music was turned off. His rescuer then flopped into the empty chair at the station next to him. Feeling a bit chagrined at how easily it had been for his neighbor to shut down the offending program; Tim glanced over and mumbled a _thanks_. The boy sitting next to him was lanky with black hair that went to his chin. Tim figured he was at most a couple of years older than him. The teen grunted a _no problem_ under his breath and didn't bother to look up from his screen as he deftly moved the mouse. He apparently had no problem navigating the various icons. Tim tried to nonchalantly watch the teen's screen in order to figure out how to work the computer.

The teen tucked the strands of his black long hair behind one ear he turned towards Tim with a raised eyebrow. His blue eyes were outlined with eyeliner, and with his voice dripping with distain when he asked, "Can I help you with something?"

Tim swallowed hard against the humiliation crawling its way up his throat, "I…don't…do you…" Tim gestured half-heartedly towards his computer his face beet red.

The teen just stared at him unimpressed, before sliding his chair over with a roll of his eyes, and grabbing the mouse again. "Here they have a tutorial." He clicked on an icon with a picture of a light bulb. Snatching a pair of rather large headphones off of a stand next to the computer, the teen shoved them roughly onto Tim's head. The boy then slid back to his own computer, and waved off Tim's muttered thanks.

Within a few seconds, a monotone voice was guiding Tim through computing 101. He kept one eye on his watch and one eye on the tutorial which thankfully was over with a couple minutes to spare. He was a little bummed he didn't have time to look for his mom, but he would be back on Monday. Taking off the headphones, Tim turned to thank the older teen once again but was surprised to see an empty chair; he had been so absorbed in the program he hadn't even seen him leave.

After he quickly gathered up his stuff, Tim ran down the stairs and out of the library, hitting the front doors at full speed. A hard rain had started since he had been in the library; Tim was surprised by the downpour. Trying to stop to avoid getting wet, his foot slipped out from under him on the slick marble floor, he started pin-wheeling his arms in an effort to stop himself from falling. Instead of his head meeting the marble floor like he expected, Tim felt someone grab the back of his jacket and yank him roughly back upright. Relived, he looked up to thank his savior, but was shocked into silence to see the teen from earlier.

The dark-haired boy was glaring down at him as though Tim had tried to slip on purpose in order to inconvenience him. "Watch it, kid, you'll crack your head open with stunts like that," the older boy said before letting go and walking down the stairs, apparently unmindful of the rain falling down on him.

Realizing he had missed his chance to thank the teen. Tim just shook his head in resignation, knowing he probably wouldn't see him again. Zipping up his jacket and flipping up the hood, Tim was soon enveloped in yellow flannel. The jacket was ugly as sin, but it was the warmest article of clothing he had ever owned. Plus the fact that it used to be owned by Gibbs gave it a little something extra. Not that he would admit it out loud, but it made him feel safe, like Gibbs was watching out for him even when he was not there.

Spying his ride, Tim ran down the front steps just in time as Jackson pulled up to the curb in his old pick-up truck. He jumped in and returned Jackson's hello with one of his own.

"How was your day?" Jackson asked kindly as he pulled out into traffic.

Tim shrugged and said, "It was alright."

As they stopped at the light, Tim saw the dark-haired teen who had helped him earlier standing on the sidewalk leaning against a white Honda and talking through an open window. Tim was concerned as he saw the boy was getting soaked. He had only a blue jean jacket, jeans, and his black hair was plastered to his forehead. The light turned green and the truck pulled forward. As they passed the white car, Tim was relieved to see the teen get into it and out of the rain. Tim's attention was pulled back to Jackson when he asked about his math exam, which Tim was taking next Monday.

He was coming up on his first test next week and that thought had him swallowing nervously before answering, "I think am ready. I've passed all the pretests so I think I'll be okay."

Jackson smiled, and his voice was confident. "You'll ace it for sure."

Tim wasn't so sure, but he didn't want to argue. Instead, he stared out the window, and watched the rain pour down before he turned the conversation to how Jackson spent his day.

 **~NCIS~**

Hands shaking, breaths coming in gasps, Cathy finally managed to unlock the hotel room door on the third try. Liam burst through, turning quickly and locking it again behind him.

Starting to sob with tears streaming down her face, Cathy begged as she slowly backed away from the menacing look on Liam's face, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

Advancing forward and grabbing Cathy by her upper arms, Liam slammed her up against the wall his face inches from hers. "What did you do?"

Spittle hit Cathy's face as Liam leaned closer, his breath stinking of cheap bourbon. "I swear I didn't do anything. We hadn't even gotten a chance to get started when he … he …"

Liam slammed her against the wall once more, causing her head to bounce against the drywall, and her dull headache became a sharp pain that reverberated through her skull. "Stop your whining, you stupid whore! God, you are just about useless! Where is he?"

Cathy tried to pull herself together long enough to keep Liam from becoming more violent, and pointed a shaking finger towards the bathroom. Liam pushed off her and pulling his Glock out of the back of his jeans, stalked across the room. Pushing open the bathroom door with a violent shove, he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Damn it!" echoed through the dingy hotel room.

Rubbing her green eyes with the heels of her hands, Cathy tried to figure out where the evening had gone wrong. She and Liam had rolled into Nashville a couple of weeks ago. She had been hustling at a local dive bar near the airport for a week. The area was crappy but the cops turned a blind eye as long no one caused trouble. And so far, it had all been smooth sailing; Liam would hang out at the bar and keep an eye on things, and she would chat up the half-drunk prospects. Most would follow her back to her room. They would agree on a price and then once they were finished, Cathy would wash up and go back to the bar.

This evening seemed like any other. It was Liam who had pointed the john out. The guy seemed out of place, with his three piece suit, and his red hair slicked back. Cathy had recognized the scent that had wafted her way. Clive Christian. A cologne like that was not cheap; the man obviously had money. So she had straightened her clothing, buttoned up her jacket, and had sauntered over. Her smile was a borderline smirk as she started a conversation commenting on his cologne. She knew a man like that wore his wealth for a reason; he wanted people to notice, to complement, to fawn over him, and so that is what Cathy did.

It worked. It always worked.

Soon they were back at the hotel; he said his name was Henry and that he had a couple hours to spare before his flight, so he walked into the first bar he saw. He had dropped his duffel bag at the end of the bed, and then had gone into the bathroom to freshen up. After twenty minutes, Cathy had grown worried, so she went to check on him only to find him on the bathroom floor, his brown eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

Freaked out, she had called Liam in a panic, unsure what to do. She was high as a kite. She had shot up before they had hit the bar that evening, but even as muddled as her thinking was right now, she knew the situation was bad. Her john was dead, and she knew she was in so much trouble. Also Liam had warrants for his arrest; if they had a run-in with the cops they would both go to jail.

Liam came back into the main room and started pacing. "Son of a Bitch!"

Knowing better then to draw attention to herself when Liam was agitated, Cathy stayed against the wall. He had been angry more and more lately. Nothing she ever did was good enough; no matter how many clients she serviced, no matter how much money she made. Liam's drug habit was getting out of control. He needed more and more lately, he had even reduced how much he gave her in order to feed his own habit.

The silence stretched out as Liam continued to pace. Finally, Cathy couldn't take it anymore. "What …what are we going to do?"

At her trembling words, Liam stopped in his tracks and turned to her. "We? Sorry, sweetheart, there is no _we_ in this situation. This is on you."

That cleared her head. She said in a low tone as she walked towards him: "What? But you and me, we are in this together forever. You promised we would be together no matter what."

Cathy tried to place her arms around Liam only to be pushed hard. Stumbling, she managed to right herself. "Baby?" she said confusion and hurt in her voice as she approached him again. She needed him to fix this for her. Placing a trembling hand on his arm, she was going to go in for a kiss to try to persuade him when he reared back and backhanded her.

Pain exploded across the side of her face, Cathy peddled backwards tripping over the dead man's duffle bag. She landed on the floor in a sprawl. Staring up at Liam, Cathy felt a chill go over her at the look on his face. There was not a scrap of love in it. She knew in that moment something that she had never allowed herself to acknowledge before. _He didn't love her._ It seemed so obvious now. Another thing that seemed glaringly obvious at the moment: He was going to kill her maybe today, maybe another day, but eventually, he would.

Liam took a menacing step towards her, the gun still in his right hand, only now. he was looking down at it contemplatively; Cathy started to scramble backwards, fear coursing through her. His foot catching on the red duffle forced Liam to look down. Picking up the bag in a huff, he then tossed it on the bed with a grunt.

"Damn that's heavy! What's in here?"

Unzipping the bag, Liam tossed the gun on the bed as he pulled out a few changes of clothes that were on top and put them aside. Cathy cautiously picked herself off the floor, keeping one eye on Liam as she edged towards the door.

She stopped in her tracks when Liam gave a loud exclamation. As he turned towards her, Cathy was shocked to see the stack of money in his hands. Liam placed the wad of cash on the bed. He then turned the bag upside down to dump out the rest of the contents; more money fell out along with some more clothes, and a dark green ledger.

Walking closer as Liam started separating the pile into even lines as he counted, "How much?" Cathy whispered when she saddled up next to him.

Liam turned towards her. His eyes wide in shock and his voice a stunned whisper. "At least half a million."

"Seriously?" Cathy said. Her voice was a mere shadow of its former self as she looked down at more money than she had ever seen-heck, more than she had ever even dreamed of.

"Yes!" Swooping towards her, Liam didn't notice her flinch as he took her in his arms and kissed her long and deep while bending her backwards over his arm. Breaking the kiss, Liam brought them both back to vertical with a wide grin which Cathy tried to return although hers was a bit weak, but Liam in his current euphoric state didn't seem to notice. "We are rich, baby!" he yelled as he started to shove the money back in the bag.

Cathy's smile became a bit more real at the exclamation. Then, a sobering thought hit her that wiped it off her face. "Wait, where did the money come from?"

Liam just looked at her like she was crazy and continued to gather up the stacks. "What does that matter? It's ours now."

She just shook her head before continuing, "This much money stowed away in a duffle bag is going to be dirty, and someone is going to come looking for it."

"God, you're stupid. Who cares who it used to belong to? Don't worry: No one will know we have it," Liam said with a sneer.

 _Stupid, useless, whore. We? Sorry, sweetheart, there is no we in this situation. This is on you_. _He's going to kill me._

Liam's words and her recent revelations kept running through her head. Cathy wasn't stupid. She was right that the money was trouble, but Liam was also correct: It was a lot of money. It could change their life.

It could change _her_ life.

At that thought, Cathy stood up straighter, an eerie sense of calm stealing over her, and all at once, she knew what she had to do. Pretending to gather up the clothes, she walked over to the bed, and swept up the abandoned gun in the process. Listening to Liam's continued diatribe against her and his half-baked schemes as to how he would spend the money only hardened her resolve. Walking behind him, she dropped the clothes. Gripping the barrel tightly, she raised it over her head and brought the butt of the gun down sharply. The sound of the gun hitting the back of Liam's head made Cathy's stomach turn. He folded instantly, his body sprawled against the ugly brown carpet. Bending over him slightly, Cathy was relieved to see his chest rise up and go back down. She didn't want to kill him; she just needed him unconscious for a while.

Cathy quickly finished placing the money and the green ledger in the duffle bag; gathering up her few belongings, she placed them on top of the money. Then going into the bathroom, she did her best to avoid looking at the body and the sightless eyes. Seizing a rag, Cathy started wiping down all of the surfaces she had touched. She was thankful Henry had been her first client of the night, therefore she hadn't used the bed yet. Liam had been the one to rent the hotel room, so the front desk hopefully hadn't seen her. With a little bit of luck, she may be able to just disappear without being implicated in this mess.

Trying to think, to plan, she turned in a circle but the meth coursing through her was making it difficult. God she hated it. She hated how much she craved it, how much it had ruined and run her life into the ground. Cathy caught her reflection in the mirror. She was shocked by how emaciated she looked. There was a bruise developing on her cheek and her eyes were blood shot. Shaken, she quickly looked away. What she had allowed herself to become wasn't a pretty sight. Walking over to the bag, she picked it up, pulling the strap up on her shoulder. Using her jacket sleeve to turn the doorknob, Cathy took one last look around, her eyes falling on Liam's unconscious form. Even knowing that Liam didn't care for her didn't stop the rush of feelings that came over her; it didn't stop her from remembering the good times. But the heaviness of the bag on her shoulder and the throbbing pain on the side of her face where he had struck her gave her the courage to turn away and walk out the door.

 **~NCIS~**

Gibbs' finger hovered over the elevator button that would take him to the bullpen. It was getting close to quitting time. They had wrapped up a rather complicated case involving a four star general, but they managed to get a confession, so now it was just a matter of paperwork. He needed to check Ziva and DiNozzo's progress before he started on his own, but his gut was telling him he needed to visit Ducky, so instead he pushed the button that would take him to autopsy. Pushing open the swinging doors, Gibbs managed to overhear the end of a conversation between Jimmy and Ducky.

"… I am very grateful, but are you sure, Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy was saying.

"You are ready Dr. Palmer. And truth be told, so am I. It's time," Ducky responded before he looked up and saw Gibbs. Ducky smiled a bit sadly at him, acknowledging his presence and then shifting his focus back at Palmer. "I've already talked to Director Vance, and he wants to speak to you as well. He knew I would want to break the news to you myself."

Nodding his head, Palmer shifted a bit nervously from one foot to another. His voice was uncharacteristically sober. "Okay, I'll go now." He turned and gave an almost violent start at the sight of Gibbs.

Gibbs hid a smile at Palmer's surprise. The assistant medical examiner never seemed to hear him coming. "Gibbs! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," the younger man stammered nervously before he veered around the senior agent in a fast walk.

Ducky pulled a stool next to his office chair, and Gibbs took that as an invitation. Once he sat down Ducky began: "I was going to talk to you after you had wrapped up the Thomson case, but as you are here now …" He trailed off before he seemed to gather his thoughts. "Jethro, as of Monday, I am officially retired, or I should say semi-retired. I will still come to work Monday thru Wednesday, but I will not be working crime scenes; that will be strictly Palmer and his assistant. I will be here to help with the autopsies once they arrive, and of course I will still be available to consult." He paused and held Gibbs' gaze for a long moment before continuing, "I have been thinking of retiring for awhile and this will help ease the transition for both Palmer and myself, as well as NCIS. In time, I will bow out completely."

Gibbs sat back the news surprising him. He had known that Ducky had seemed preoccupied over the last couple of weeks. He had meant to talk to his friend before now, but with Tim and Jackson now a part of his everyday life, he had been low on time. He just couldn't imagine coming down to autopsy and not seeing his friend. "Are you sure, Duck? You love your job here."

"Of course I love my job, but I am ready to move on. Jethro, I am seventy-eight years old. It is time. And like I said, I will still be working here for a while, just on a part time basis." Ducky explained gently. "You, Tony, Abby, Palmer, Ziva, and now Timothy are family to me; that will not change whether I work for NCIS or not."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. He was thankful that Ducky saw them all as family because that is how Gibbs himself felt. It was true that Ducky was so full of life that sometimes Gibbs forgot his friend was older than himself, and although Gibbs never liked change, he did want what was best for his friend, so he said softly, "Okay."

Standing up, he placed one hand on Ducky's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before walking out.

 **~NCIS~**

Tim was so hungry his stomach was starting to hurt. It had been almost two days since the last time he had eaten. He had tried to sleep but the gnawing hunger made rest impossible. Tim was so desperate eat he decided to leave the room he had squirreled himself away in as the party had got going. His mother had passed out in one of the easy chairs in the living room earlier in the evening. Tim had checked to make sure she was still breathing and then had made himself scarce. He had found a room with a lock on the door and had planned on spending the night in it, but his hunger had driven him out, even though it wasn't safe.

His goal was the pizza that had been delivered earlier in the day; Liam had shared it with Cathy and the other partygoers but had refused to give Tim any because in his words: _Tim needed to pull his own weight._ The look shared between Liam and his mother had been icy. His mother had been angry and a bit scared, so she hadn't challenged Liam; she never did. Instead, she told Tim that she would sneak him a piece later, but she had passed out before she could. The party in the living room was still going strong; Tim could hear the loud music and the too loud laughter.

Keeping his steps light and his back against the wall, Tim walked towards the living room. The hallway was dark, but the living room was brightly lit. When he reached the end, Tim could see that most of the adults were on the far side of the room where the couch and chairs where situated in a circle. There was an alcove closest to the hallway where a small dinette table was located and on the table was the pizza box. Glancing over when one of the revelers gave a drunken shout, Tim felt his stomach give a desperate rumble, and that sensation had him creeping forward.

When he reached the table, he was dismayed to see only one slice of congealed cheese pizza but it looked like manna from heaven to his ravenous stomach. Wanting to return to the safety of his room, Tim reached out to grab the slice only to have it snatched away at the last minute. Tim looked up and saw Liam sneering down at him. He felt a cold sweep of terror run through him as Liam's cruel smile grew.

"Look at you. God you're such a waste of space. You can't even steal a slice of pizza without screwing it up," Liam said mockingly. He took a step towards him, causing Tim to flinch back in fear. "You're such a loser, scared of your own shadow. Why Cathy puts up with you, I'll never know."

Liam kept walking towards him, but this time, Tim refused to back up. He was surprised when Liam walked past him and into the kitchen. He walked straight to the trashcan and stepped on the peddle at the bottom so the lid popped up. Liam looked him in the eye and dropped the slice of pizza in the garbage.

"If you want it so badly, there you go, it's all yours," Liam laughed out cruelly, and as he passed Tim on the way back to the living room, he said, "A freak like you should have no problem eating out of the garbage."

Tim slowly walked into the kitchen as Liam and the rest of the partiers continued laughing and talking in the living room. Popping the lid of the trash can, Tim stared down at the slice. It was lying on old beer cans and coffee grounds. His stomach was in knots; somehow he was both hungry and nauseous. Reaching in, Tim picked it up. Turning around, Tim ran back into his room. He shut and locked the door, and then slid down until he was sitting in front of it. He stared at the food in his hand, brushing off the coffee grounds on the bottom. Then, with tears in his eye and shame rolling through him, he took a bite and almost gagged as the stale beer smell hit his nose, but he forced himself to swallow. Who knew when he would eat again?

Tim woke with a start. The memory of that night weaving its way through his dreams was new. He didn't like to think about moments like that, but for some reason they would pop up in his dreams from time to time anyway. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

An hour later, Tim was staring wide eyed at his ceiling and watching the occasional headlight racing across as cars went down the street. Glancing at his bedside clock, Tim saw it was just past eleven, almost Sunday. He should be sleeping. He had been tired when he had lain down, but thanks to his nightmare, now he was wide awake. It had been a long day. He and Jackson had spent the day together, as Gibbs had been called out on a case. Tim hadn't seen his father, _and didn't that still seem weird to say_ , since Thursday. Jackson had driven them down to the farmer's market and they had walked the stalls. Tim had enjoyed himself; he had never been to an open air market before. He liked getting to sample the different types of food. They had talked about what recipes to try out in the coming week and had bought the fruits and vegetables they would need. His grandfather was teaching him to cook. Tim was enjoying the time they spent together in the kitchen getting dinner prepared. They got a chance to talk, just the two of them. Tim had learned a lot about Jacksons' past and, to his father's chagrin, more stories of Gibbs' childhood.

After the farmer's market, Tim had spent the rest of the day studying for the tests that he was taking on Monday afternoon. Jackson had finally pulled him away from studying in order to give him a break and they prepared dinner. They wrapped up their day by watching one of the movies Agent DiNozzo had dropped off a couple of weeks ago.

When the clock's display turned to 11:30, Tim gave up. Taking his book off the nightstand, he softly made his way downstairs. In search of a snack Tim entered the kitchen. Finding an apple in the fruit bowl on the counter, Tim hesitated, his fingertips just brushing the dark red skin of the fruit when an epiphany stole over him. He could just take one and no one would yell at him. In fact, he could go into the fridge and make himself a sandwich and neither Gibbs nor Jackson would stop him. Grabbing the apple with a faint smile on his lips, Tim was going to go back upstairs when he saw light seeping under the basement door. Figuring it was Gibbs, Tim hesitated briefly before turning the handle. He stopped about three-fourths of the way down the stairs, and sat on one of the steps.

 **~NCIS~**

Gibbs was tired but too keyed up to sleep. He had come down here to unwind and work on the bookcase he started a few weeks ago. It had been a long couple of days. When he had come home and the house had been dark, Gibbs had found himself disappointed. It used to be an everyday occurrence for him, but since Tim and Jackson moved in, it had been different. He had considered himself a bit of a lone wolf and that maybe having people under foot all the time would grow wearisome, but in actuality, Gibbs found he enjoyed having a family again. Although he had kept in contact over the phone with his father and Tim, he found he had missed them when he had basically lived at the office.

So he was pleasantly surprised when he heard the basement door open and Tim make his way down the stairs. They were making progress in their relationship, Tim still didn't call him dad, but he also sought him out more when he was home and that made him optimistic.

He smiled his welcome when Tim sat down on the step; he asked, "How's it going?"

Tim decided to be honest and said, "Good. A bit tired, but I couldn't sleep."

Gibbs knew Tim had a lot on his plate. He was going to school and was being tutored a few days a week. It was a heavy load for the young boy to carry; Gibbs was worried he could get overwhelmed, especially considering how much Tim's life had changed lately. "Want to talk about it?"

Tim shrugged and in a low voice said, "I am a bit worried about the tests I have to take on Monday."

"These are for the tutoring program?"

"Yeah. I have my first test for Math and Science this week, and I should be ready to take my English exam next week."

Gibbs whistled softly. He could see why Tim was so worried, to have that many exams _and_ all of his regular school work. Gibbs had been concerned about the work load when the principal had explained the program to him, but Tim had been determined to catch up to the other students in his grade. Gibbs had noticed that Tim seemed especially driven. Even the principal had said that usually it would take a student a month to reach the first test and Tim had reached it within two weeks.

"Need any help studying? It's been awhile since I was in school, but I could quiz ya if you want," Gibbs offered.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, Tim said, "Umm maybe at some point, but right now honestly all of the words are starting to run together." Lifting up his book and showing it to Gibbs, he continued, "I can't even seem to read a book I actually want to read. The words refuse to make sense."

Gibbs nodded his head in commiseration. "I've been there when I've worked a case for so long the words would start to swim in front of me and I can't seem to think straight anymore."

"So what do you do?" Tim asked genuinely interested.

"Well, usually when I get that caught up in my head, I need to take a step back and do something completely different," Gibbs said, gesturing to the bookcase he was working on.

Tim stood up and walked down the stairs. Getting closer to Gibbs' workstation, he asked, "What are you working on?"

Gibbs felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He was ridiculously glad that Tim was showing an interest in something he loved. "Actually, it's a bookcase for Ducky for Christmas. He has more books than space and I thought this could help."

 **~NCIS~**

Standing next to Gibbs, Tim grinned and agreed, "That's very true."

They had eaten dinner over at Ducky's house last week, and the M.D. had a plethora of books at his stately Victorian house. Tim had enjoyed himself during their evening at Dr. Mallard's. After dinner, Ducky had asked him if he played chess and at his negative reply, Ducky had offered to teach him. That evening Tim received a crash course in the history of the game and how to play. He liked Ducky and enjoyed their chess game. He also felt a bit bad for him: It was a large house for one person; Tim sometimes felt that the man was lonely.

Now that he knew what to look for, Tim could see pieces of the bookcase spread around the basement. There were planks of a dark wood leaning up against the wall to their right. On the table were smaller pieces along with what Tim could only assume were wood carving tools.

Picking up one of them, Gibbs held it out for Tim to look at. "This is one of the decorative trim pieces."

It was half finished and Tim was amazed to see how detailed the work was. In wonder he said, "This is the same design as some of the woodwork in Ducky's house."

"Yeah, I wanted it to match so that he could put it into any room in his house that he wished," Gibbs stated, placing the piece back down on the table.

"I think he will love it. It's very beautiful," Tim said.

"Thank you, Tim. That means a lot."

Tim shifted his weight from one foot to the other before feeling compelled to ask, "I hope it's ok that I came down here?"

"Anytime I am working in the basement you are more than welcome to come join me. Okay?" Gibbs looked at Tim for his assent, once Tim nodded Gibbs pressed on, "If you want, I could show you how I work the designs into the wood."

Tim nodded and then said, "Okay."

Gibbs pulled up a stool for Tim. Once the young man was seated, Gibbs picked up one of the carving tools and one of the pieces and started the process of carving out a design. Tim found himself enraptured as Gibbs used the various tools. He recognized the leaves and swirls that started to take shape in what was formerly just a block of wood. He found he couldn't help but break the silence by asking questions but Gibbs didn't seem to mind in the slightest. His answers were always through and patient. Gibbs named the tools he used and showed Tim each of their functions.

"Did you want to help?" Gibbs asked, sounding uncharacteristically tentative.

Adamantly shaking his head, Tim said, "No, I wouldn't want to mess anything up."

"I have some pieces that need to be sanded first. If you want?"

Tim was unsure but intrigued, so he answered with a slight grin: "Sure I'll try."

Gibbs smiled gently before snagging a piece of scrap wood and some sand paper. He said, "First step is to sand off the rough bits and edge."

Once Tim got started it actually wasn't too difficult. As he sanded, Gibbs continued to carve the intricate designs. The silenced stretched on until Tim asked, "Did you do this with Kelly?"

As soon as the question left his mouth Tim wished he could take it back. Gibbs didn't talk about Shannon or Kelly much. There had been a stray remark here and there but nothing really concrete. Taking a peek at Gibbs, Tim saw he had paused in his work and had a faraway look on his face. Just when Tim opened his mouth to apologize, Gibbs finally spoke up as he continued carving the vine and leaf motif into the wood.

"Kelly was a bit young for this. She always wanted to be moving and playing. But sometimes she would keep me company when I worked down here. She would play with her toys at a station I had set up in the corner. Kelly could talk your ear off if you gave her a chance." Gibbs caught Tim's eye for a brief moment before continuing, "I enjoyed the company even when she was lost in her own imagination." He smiled a bit at the memory, "She would make up the most incredible stories and act them out with the stuffed animals."

Tim listened intently: he was deeply curious. Kelly sounded like a good kid and would have been a great big sister. Tim knew she had been killed before he was born, but he was still sad that he wouldn't ever get to meet her.

Gibbs continued to tell stories about Kelly and Shannon as they kept working on Ducky's bookcase. Tim would ask questions here or there to keep the stories coming, and he even got to hear more about his father's childhood.

 **~NCIS~**

Gibbs told Tim about the day Kelly was born and how she was walking by one and running by one and a half. How Shannon could cook the best spice cake, the kind that would melt in your mouth. Gibbs was surprised how much he was enjoying being able to share with Tim about his wife and daughter. When Tim yawned for the third time, he knew it was time to wrap it up. Gibbs glanced at the clock behind him and saw it was past one in the morning. "It's late."

They washed up at the utility sink, and then they walked tiredly up the stairs. Gibbs could tell Tim was profoundly tired, he hoped he would now be able to sleep. As they parted in the hallway, Tim gave him a sleepy wave and a quiet thank you. Going into his own room, Gibbs couldn't help but smile. He felt that this evening he and Tim had turned a corner, and that maybe Tim was starting to trust him. Hopefully soon his son would feel comfortable enough to open up more about his past.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who read my story, favorited, and left a review. Getting a review always makes my day! Here's the new chapter. Specific warnings for this chapter are for panic attacks and violence.

* * *

 **~NCIS~**

 _Monday_

The downtown library was surrounded by mostly abandoned dilapidated buildings situated in a rundown part of town. The outside of the building was done in the neoclassical style the inside was more modern with the stacks taking up most of the first and second floor. The computer lab was tucked away in a corner on the second floor. It housed twelve computers, in all and they were all in high demand. There was an extensive waitlist, and Tim would run upstairs before his tutoring session to put his name on the list so that by time he was done with his schooling a computer was usually available for him.

The key word there was _usually_ , Tim thought to himself as he waited in the hard plastic chairs for his number to pop up on the small red digital screen above the computer lab door. Looking down at his watch, Tim saw he only had twenty minutes until Jackson would be expecting him downstairs. Nerves caused his leg to bounce in place as the seconds went by; he needed to get to a computer.

Finally seeing his number pop up, Tim quickly went in and sat down. This time he was not completely ignorant, thanks to that tutorial he had listened to last week. He could at least get on the internet without struggling too much. Glancing at the time displayed in the corner of the computer screen, he saw that now, he had only fifteen minutes. Muttering under his breath in frustration, Tim typed his mother's name into the search engine.

He quickly became overwhelmed with the amount of information that came up. There were over 600,000 results. He never realized how common the name Catherine McGee was until now. Mostly, there were listings for information services that he had to become a member of in order to get anything other than a name and a state. Even if he had any money, they only took credit cards, which he didn't have access to. Sitting back in disappointment and misery, Tim wasn't sure what else to do. He needed to find his mom. He needed to know how she was doing. Tim gave up his spot to the next waiting patron. He only had five minutes to get downstairs. He also needed come up with a new plan.

Not wanting to wait for the elevator, Tim took the stairs and jogged across the lobby. Outside, the weather was much kinder than it had been on Friday. Instead of rain, Tim was greeted by sunshine, although there was a stiff icy breeze that reminded the hurried library patrons that they were in the middle of a cold snap.

Spying a row of benches next to the curb, Tim managed to find an empty one at the end, where he sat down, took his backpack off, and placed it at his feet but kept one hand on it. He had personal knowledge of how easy it was to free someone of their personal belongings when they weren't paying attention.

Tim needed to find his mom before Gibbs did. The older man had never spoken directly to him about trying to find his mother, but it only made sense. Gibbs would want to make sure that Liam couldn't hurt him anymore. So he had concluded that his father would try to find him. Although he tried to hide it, Tim knew Gibbs was not a huge fan of his mom either, so undoubtedly he was looking for her as well. Tim knew if he could just see his mom, he could convince her to come with him and maybe explain to Gibbs that this whole thing had been a misunderstanding. That she had never meant to leave him. Tim had thought about it, and he had come to the conclusion that Liam must have forced his mother to leave him because there was no way his mom, who loved him, would voluntary do so. Once his mother saw him again, she would want to stay with him. He just needed to find her and get her away from Liam, but he was at a loss now as to how he was going to do that.

As his thoughts started to circle in on themselves, Tim felt his anxiety begin to rise up in him; it caused his chest to tighten and his leg to bounce in time to his rapidly increasing heartbeat. He could feel a panic attack tickling at the edge of his consciousness. He didn't need to lose it out here in public, but the more he tried to calm down, the worse the panicky feeling became.

"So what's got your undies in a twist this time?"

The harshly worded question that seemingly came out of nowhere caused Tim to startle and whip around to look behind him. It was the teen from the other day. He was smoking a cigarette and leaning nonchalantly against the oak tree. Tim turned back around without answering the sarcastic question; he didn't want anyone to see him like this, not even a stranger. His breathing started to increase as fear and panic began to seep into his mind and freeze his thoughts. He felt cold and yet he could feel himself start to sweat.

"Oh shit … Are you okay?" came the voice again, only this time it was full of concern. The teen sat next to him and placed a hand on his back and said, "Hey kid, I need you to slow down your breathing or you're going to pass out. Take a deep breath in and slowly let it out."

Tim tried, but his breathing was out of control. He squeezed his eyes shut and started rocking in place.

"Hey … hey … kid, I need you to look at me."

The teen's voice sounded muffled and far away, but Tim latched onto it in desperation. Prying his eyes open, he met the other boy's concerned gaze.

"That's it. Now follow me, take in a deep breath, one … two … three … hold it. Now let it out, one… two … three …"

Tim tried his best to follow the teen's softly worded instructions, and slowly but surely he felt his lungs fill with the much needed oxygen and then release the carbon dioxide.

The teen's hand awkwardly patted his back. "That's it kid. Keep breathing."

Sitting up a bit straighter, Tim wheezed out, "Tim."

The older boy leaned closer, "What?"

"My name is Tim, not kid," he said. His voice still sounded rough, but his breathing was a lot better.

The teen's mouth quirked at the corner as he said, "Sure, _kid_ , whatever you say."

Noting the special emphasis on the word kid, Tim scowled, but let it go knowing the other boy was just trying to get a rise out of him. Tim turned towards the street keeping an eye out for Jackson. His anxiety was still there but it was muted; it no longer felt like it was going to overwhelm him. They sat in silence a few more minutes, before Tim glanced over and saw the other boy take a drag off the cigarette still in his hand.

"So what's your name?" Tim asked with a hint of challenge in his voice. He was half betting the teen wouldn't answer out of sheer orneriness.

The older boy turned towards him and raised one eyebrow at his tone before taking a final drag off his cigarette, throwing what was left on the sidewalk, and smashing it under his sneaker.

He said, "… Jude."

Tim had heard the hesitation, so he wondered if the teen's name was really Jude, but he didn't want to pry, so he just nodded. "Do you go to school around here?"

Jude laughed without joy before he answered, "No, I left school awhile ago."

Tim squinted at him. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen," Jude stated bluntly, defiantly.

Tim figured he was probably sixteen at most. He wondered why Jude would lie about his age. With a tiny, almost indistinguishable shake of his head, Tim stopped himself from asking anymore questions. It was really none of his business.

"So what made you go all wheezy a few minutes ago?" Jude asked mockingly

Tim bristled at the question he felt like the older boy was making fun of him, so he replied harshly, "Why do you care?'

Jude stood up abruptly, his face grim, before he spat out, "Suit yourself."

Regretting his harsh words and realizing he had hurt the other boy's feelings, Tim snagged Jude's sleeve as he passed him. "Hey, wait …"

Jude jerked his arm away but he did stop, which gave Tim the courage to continue, "I'm sorry, okay? It's been a rough day."

He looked unsure, so Tim pressed on, "Please." Tim didn't know exactly why it was so important that Jude not leave. Maybe it was because he was the first person even close to his own age to give him the time of day, considering the kids at his school still gave him the cold shoulder. Or maybe it was the fact that Jude had helped him three times in the last couple of days, or maybe it was the fact that Tim had no idea what to do next. Whatever the reason, Tim just really needed him to stay.

He was relieved when Jude sat back down, although he had his arms crossed as he stared off into the distance like he didn't care one way or another. Tim took in a deep breath and said, "I have been trying to find information about my mom on the computer, but it's not going well."

At the admission, Jude's posture relaxed just a little bit and he turned towards Tim. "So I take it you don't live with your mom."

Tim didn't want to get into the whole sordid story, so he answered vaguely, "No, I have been living with my dad for the past month. My mom … travels and doesn't have a cell phone and …" His voice trailed off at the look Jude was giving him. Tim could tell the other boy didn't believe him at all.

"Sure, kid," Jude said knowingly. "She left, didn't she?"

Bristling, Tim wanted to go on the defensive at his abrupt question, but Jude's tone was one of understanding. Glancing at the teen, Tim caught a fleeting sadness cross the other boys face before it was covered up by the smirk that seemed to be Jude's default expression.

Tim answered with sadness, "Yes." Tears threatened to fall, but he willed them back as he hurried on, "But she is going to come back for me. I just have to find her and convince her to leave her boyfriend. I know Gibbs … that's my dad … will help her get clean, and then we can be together again. Heck, maybe she could get an apartment nearby." Tim's voice had strengthened and picked up speed as he had gone along.

Jude just looked at him. Tim scowled back when he saw something akin to pity in his eyes. Jude held up his hands, although whether he was trying to placate Tim or telling him to stop talking, Tim wasn't sure. "Okay, one thing at a time. You have no way to get a hold of her?"

"No," Tim said sullenly, running his hand over his hair. His fingers getting caught in a few tangles caused by the wind; his hair had grown out a bit in the past couple of weeks. Usually by this time, his mom would have shaved it again, but Gibbs was giving him leeway with it, so Tim was enjoying letting it grow out.

"Hm, that is a bit of a pickle. Give me a minute to think about it," Jude said.

They sat there for a few minutes, Jude staring off into the distance and Tim glancing between him and the street to look for a yellow pickup truck.

Finally, Jude gave a deep sigh causing Tim to turn towards him. "Okay, look my family's living situation has been a tad fluid in the past."

Tim nodded his understanding. He was very familiar with moving around.

"But no matter how much we moved around, no matter how much we travelled, there was one or two places we revisited and a couple of people we kept in contact with. Is there any place like that you and your mom visited?"

Tim tried to think hard about it; they had moved around so much. Liam wasn't the best at keeping friends, and he and his mom owed a lot of people a lot of money. So they were usually more concerned about avoiding people they knew rather than seeking them out.

All the sudden, it hit Tim: Sal. His mom and Liam always checked in with Sal when they passed through Pittsburgh.

"Yeah, there was one guy that for some reason my mom and Liam checked in with whenever we were in town." Tim explained in a rush all the salient details of Sal and his car repair business in the heart of midtown Pittsburgh.

At this, Jude actually smiled and said, "Great. So what you do is write your mom a letter telling her you wish to see her and you send it to this Sal guy. Eventually maybe your mom will get it. It is not a hundred percent guarantee, but at least it is something."

Tim sat up a bit straighter, buoyed by the idea that they may have hit on a way to reach his mom before he thought of a snag in their plan. "I don't remember the address, and Pittsburgh is a big place."

"Do you remember the name of the business?"

"Yes, but that's about it. It was called _Uncle Sal's Car Repair_."

"We could look it up at the computer lab." Jude said before asking, "Are you going to be here tomorrow?"

"No, but I'll be back on Wednesday," Tim said eagerly. It sounded like Jude's idea might help him. Since he couldn't talk to Gibbs or Jackson about it, he needed all the help he could get. "I'll write the letter and bring it with me then."

"Okay. Don't forget about an envelope and stamp. I'll see if I can find the address tomorrow, when I am using the computer," Jude said.

"Will you be here on Wednesday?" Tim asked, wondering why Jude was always hanging around the library.

"Oh yeah, I am always around here somewhere. Don't worry. I'll find you," Jude reassured him. The teen then wrapped his arms around his torso; the wind had picked up in the last few minutes.

Tim noticed he was still just wearing a long sleeve shirt with a jean jacket over it and jeans, which were nowhere near warm enough in the middle of November. Tim opened his mouth to express his concern when Jude stood up abruptly. He stared down the street; his voice was tense, "I have to get back to w…I have to go."

Tim looked down the street to see what had shaken him. There was a strip mall that housed a liquor store, a comic book store, which Tim really wanted to visit, and a couple of vacant store fronts. There was also a blue SUV idling at the corner. Maybe that was Jude's folks, although from what Tim remembered, it had been a white Honda last week. His parents probably had two cars.

Tim was going to ask, but just then Jackson pulled up in his truck and honked the horn. He turned back to thank Jude and say goodbye, but the teen was already halfway down the block and heading towards the SUV.

Tim watched him walk away, hoping that the older boy was speaking the truth about helping him. He could use a friend and he hoped Jude could be one.

 **~NCIS~**

 _Wednesday_

"Hey kid!"

Tim swung around squinting against the glare of the sun; he grinned when he saw Jude coming towards him in a half jog, half walk. Tim met him halfway down the stairs; he had just finished with tutoring for the day and was relieved that the teen was already here.

"You got it?" Jude asked, slightly out of breath as he leaned against the brass handrail that ran along the stairs in front of the library.

Digging into his backpack, Tim withdrew the letter and showed it to the other boy proudly. He had spent most of his free time over the last couple of days trying to decide what to write. Tim had started and discarded over a dozen letters. He had tossed them into his bedroom wastepaper basket but had become paranoid that Gibbs would find them and realize what he was up to and try to stop him. So he got rid of them in the garbage can outside. In the end he tried to keep the letter simple, and just told his mom what had happened to him since she had left with Liam. Although he had skipped over most of his journey to Jackson's because he didn't want her to feel bad. Instead, he had focused on how much he missed her. Then he had tried to describe the life they could have here in D.C. together if she came back: he tried to make that part seem as enticing as possible.

The letter was already sealed and ready to go. He had borrowed a stamp and envelope from Jackson; he had come up with an excuse about a school project. His grandfathers ready acceptance of his lie had made him feel really guilty. Tim knew it was wrong and he had wanted to confide in the older man, as he was actually starting to think of him as his grandfather. But once again he was afraid that they would stop him from finding his mom.

Jude dug in his pocket a produced a wadded up post-it note. Leading Tim to a bench, he handed it over.

"Wow you found it! Thank you!" A wide smile spread across Tim's face; Jude beamed back him in a rare smile. Sitting down, Tim quickly wrote the address of Uncle Sal's garage on the envelope and then Gibbs' address on the top left corner.

"How long till your ride gets here?" Jude asked.

"My grandpa should be here in a half an hour," Tim responded distractedly as he finished up writing.

"There's a post office box down the block and around the corner. We can drop it off there and be back in time. No problem," Jude stated as he stood up.

Tim felt a bit uneasy with that plan. Gibbs had been very clear about the fact he was not to leave the library grounds. Tim had even promised. He already felt bad enough about lying. He didn't really want to start outright defying Gibbs. He was pretty sure that Gibbs wouldn't get violent with him, but he wasn't sure what he would do so Tim was trying to stay on his best behavior.

Looking down at the letter in his hand and all it represented, Tim made his decision. This was the only idea they had come up with to find his mother. He had to send it off as soon as possible, so he said, "Okay."

Following Jude across the street, Tim asked, "Do you live around here?"

Jude shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette, putting it into his mouth, and lighting it with a cheap looking lighter. Tim was starting to wonder if he was going to answer when Jude finally spoke up, a defensive tone to his voice. "I live at the Sunshine motel down the street."

Tim remembered passing by the motel. It was vaguely familiar in the way it looked like every rundown seedy motel he and his mom had ever lived at. Places like that were cheap and no one asked any questions which was always a bonus as far as Liam and his mom were concerned. Looking over at Jude, he couldn't help but notice the teen's cheeks were red as though he was embarrassed so Tim tried to commiserate with him. "Let me guess, the hot water barely works and the carpet is a matted down shag from the seventies."

Tim was glad to see the other teen nod his head and finally glance his way. He even smiled slightly. "Yeah, the carpet is a mix between puke green and mustard yellow." He looked over at Tim with a raised eyebrow. "So you have experience with such lovely establishments?"

"I grew up in places like that. No matter what part of the country we moved to, the motels all were the same," Tim said sympathetically.

"Yes, because you are so old now," Jude stated with amusement. Tim gave him a good-natured shove. The older teen barely moved but had a pleased smile on his face, and soon they were swapping stories about the various crappy motels they had stayed at.

Once they reached the post office, Tim shoved the letter through the mail slot. He felt as though a weight had been lifted. He knew it was a long shot, but he was at least maybe a step closer to seeing his mom again.

"So what's up with you calling your father by his last name?" Jude asked as they walked back to library. Tim ignored the question. He didn't want to get into it just yet. They were one block away from the library, but Tim couldn't help but pause in front of the comics book store. A neon colored flyer caught Tim's eye; apparently, this weekend there was going to be a sale on comics, plus games and prizes for just visiting. Tim wondered if he could get a ride back down here. "What superhero is your favorite?"

Jude seemed to think about it for a minute. Then he almost seemed embarrassed when he answered, "I've always liked Superman."

"Why?"

Jude rubbed his hand against the back of his neck and muttered, "I know he's not the cool one nowadays, but he always tries to do the right thing. And he's stupidly noble. He gets knocked down but keeps getting back up."

"That's cool. I've always liked Batman …" Tim started to say before he looked down the street towards the library. "Damn it!"

Jude looked down the street as well. "Is that your grandfather?"

"Yes," Tim said, feeling the familiar sense of panic start to bubble up within him.

Jackson's truck was parked in front of the library and the older man was on the sidewalk. Tim's heartbeat was speeding up. He knew in his heart of hearts Jackson wouldn't hurt him, but he couldn't help a lifetime of learned response.

Tim took a couple of deep breaths and started to walk back towards the library. Jude grabbed his arm. "Are you going to be okay?" Concern softened his voice.

Tim could tell the older teen was worried. Smiling up at him, he tried to put him at ease. "Yeah, my grandfather wouldn't hurt me. I just didn't want to disappoint him and now I have."

Jude's blue eyes held his for a moment to gauge his truthfulness. He must have seen enough because he let go and said, "Okay."

"You want to meet him?" Tim asked. Considering Jude was the closest thing he had for a friend, he wanted him to meet Jackson.

"No thank you. Family really isn't my thing," Jude said as he took a few steps back. He looked a little bit spooked.

"Sure, okay," Tim said a bit disappointed, but he understood. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem." Jude turned away.

"I'll see you later?" Tim asked, hating how desperate he sounded but needing the reassurance.

Jude half turned back towards him and with a smirk said, "Sure, kid, see you later," before he continued walking back towards the motel.

Tim quickly crossed the street and jogged up to Jackson. When Jackson noticed him, Tim could see the concern melt off his face replaced with a relieved grin. Tim gave him a weak smile. His guilt sat like a rock in his stomach. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

Jackson placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ready to go?"

Tim was surprised when he wasn't questioned, so he blurted out, "I'm sorry. I was off property."

Jackson said kindly, "I know. Let's go home and fix dinner. We'll talk it over."

"Okay," Tim said relieved that his grandfather wasn't going to give him a hard time, and climbed into the truck. He knew he was still going to have to face Gibbs, but he was glad he was off the hook for now. He asked Jackson about his day. Listening intently, he responded in kind when the question was returned.

 **~NCIS~**

"Hey, boss, wait up."

Gibbs pulled up short as he was about to enter the elevator. He was in a hurry. They had wrapped up the Gonzalez case just in time for a long weekend over Thanksgiving break. He had been fearful that they would have to work through the holiday. Gibbs hadn't wanted to miss the first holiday since he had found out he was a father again. So as soon as he had finished his paperwork, Gibbs had gathered his stuff and headed out, hoping to catch Jackson and Tim before they went to sleep for the evening.

Seeing Tony jog towards him, Gibbs proceeded into the elevator and held the doors for his second-in-command. "What's up, DiNozzo?"

Tony opened the folder in his hand, "We were contacted by Nashville P.D. Liam Thomas' fingerprints were found at a crime scene."

Gibbs paused the elevator and eagerly took the file from DiNozzo.

Pointing to the first picture, Tony continued. "One Henry Donnelly was found dead in a bathroom of a no tell motel in the seedier section of Nashville. The coroner ruled that Mr. Donnelly's death was from natural causes. Apparently, ol' Henry heart problems. The room was rented by Liam Thomas. The clerk at the front desk remembered a tiny blonde woman smoking a cigarette outside who matches Catherine McGee's description."

Gibbs looked through the file. "They have probably left town by now."

"More than likely, but wait, there's more," Tony said with more than a bit of exuberance in his voice. At the look that Gibbs shot him, Tony toned it down quickly and continued, "Henry Donnelly was an enforcer for the mob out of Chicago. Rumor has it he skipped town with quite a bit of the boss' money. The boss, Robert Shea, has recently taken over from his father, Miles Shea, who passed away under suspicious circumstances. Now Robert is trying to shore up his hold on Chicago. He has also been looking for his wayward hit man for the last couple of days, but with Donnelly's death, he will have to look elsewhere for his money, as none was found in the hotel room."

Gibbs just shook his head. The news sent a chill through him. "He is going to be looking for Catherine and Liam Thomas."

Tony agreed. "We have to find them first, or else they will more than likely end up in a shallow grave."

"With that much money, they may start spending it impetuously, which will make them more visible. We have to find them before Shea does."

"Yes, Boss." Tony agreed.

Gibbs pushed the button and the elevator started up again. When it reached the ground floor, he said, "Reissue the APB's, add the pertinent information." The doors opened and Gibbs stepped out. "I'll see you at Ducky's tomorrow?"

"Yep, can't wait. Ducky cooks a mean turkey. I am picking up Abby and Jimmy and then we will be there around one," Tony said as the doors slid close.

 **~NCIS~**

Trying not to make any noise in the darkened house, Gibbs quietly shut the front door. He was disappointed that although he had tried his best, he didn't end up making it in time to spend the evening with Tim and his father. This was the second time in the last few weeks that Gibbs had been away from the house for days on a case. He had to find a way to balance work and his newfound home life.

He walked into the kitchen and then opened the refrigerator and grabbed the covered plate that Jackson had set aside for him. It looked like his father had made his famous meatloaf, which was one of Gibbs' favorite. Gibbs put his stuff away while his dinner warmed up in the microwave. Stopping the timer before the loud beep could go off, Gibbs sat down to eat. He was about halfway done when he heard a light tread on the stairs. He was pleasantly surprised to see Tim round the corner; he was in his pj's and had with an ever present book in his hands.

Seeing him hesitate, Gibbs waved him in.

"Hey Tim," Gibbs said softly as his son sat down across from him.

"Hey," Tim parroted back, giving a faint smile.

Watching as Tim slowly traced the letters on the front cover of his book, Gibbs couldn't help but think he had something on his mind. As the silence stretched on, Gibbs took a few more bites and then decided he would start, "So what are you reading now?"

"Journeyto the Center of the Earth," Tim answered, holding up the book for Gibbs' inspection.

"Another one of Tony's?" Gibbs said a bit surprised. He had never really thought of his second-in-command as a reader. The only form of entertainment Tony ever talked about was movies.

Tim's eyes lit up as they always did when he talked about books, "Yeah, I really liked 20,000 Leagues so much that he recommended another Jules Verne book. He dropped it off yesterday. So far, it's good."

"So what's wrong?" Gibbs asked softly.

Tim looked down, gave a deep shuttering sigh, and said, "I messed up."

Gibbs could see that Tim's hands shook just a bit, and so he made sure to keep his voice soft when he asked, "How?" Tim was still pretty mum about his past, but he had a feeling Catherine and Liam hadn't been very forgiving when it came to childhood mistakes.

Tim finally looked up and met his gaze. His voice trembled when he said, "I know you told me not to leave the library until Jackson comes to pick me up, but today I went to … the comic book store down the street."

Gibbs sat back a bit; he had said that. Tim was still too young to be wandering around by himself. On the other hand, Gibbs understood the temptation that a comic book store could have on a young boy. He could see himself being unable to resist the lure of superheroes and supervillains at Tim's age. But something was pinging his radar, something that Tim was holding back. He knew they had built up some faith, but there were large gaps where Tim still didn't trust him. He was afraid to push for fear of them going back to square one.

Tim shifted in his seat once again, and Gibbs let him off the hook. "I understand why you would want to go, but all you had to do was ask me, and I would have taken you."

Gibbs watched as relief spread over Tim's face and a trembling smile touched his lips when he realized that he wasn't going to be punished. It was sad that Tim had worked himself up to such an extent. "It's late. Are you tired?"

"Not really," Tim answered with a shrug.

"I was going to work on Ducky's bookcase some more, if you want to join me," Gibbs offered. He was happy to see Tim's face light up, so he added, "You can even read me some of your book if you want."

"Really?" Tim asked a smile spreading across his face. "You would want me to read to you again?"

Gibbs could see how much that meant to Tim. "Of course," Gibbs reassured him as he got up and placed his plate in the sink.

Following Tim to the basement, Gibbs vowed to make more of a point to express an interest in what Tim was passionate about. Gibbs knew he wasn't the best when it came to talking in general, but this was Tim, and he was worth the effort.

 **~NCIS~**

Liam jolted awake as ice cold water was splashed against his face. He didn't remember passing out. Blinking the water out of his eyes, Liam gazed blurrily up at the two figures standing over him. His left eye was swollen shut and some of his ribs were cracked. He had been picked up a couple of hours ago and had been worked over ever since. The weird thing was they hadn't asked any questions, and they hadn't answered any of his. The room he had been brought to was bare except for the straight back chair he was tied to and a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

The two goons had been oddly silent the entire time they had landed their blows and now they had been staring at him for over an hour.

"What's going on, guys? What do you want?" Liam tried to get their attention, but once again, they ignored him. They seemed to be waiting on something.

As the silence stretched on, Liam was able to catch the sound of footsteps off in the distance that got closer until the door opened.

"Liam, Liam, Liam … look at you. You're a mess," came a voice from the darkened doorway; it had a familiar lilt to it.

The figure stepped into the light, the man was at least 6'3, with broad shoulders. His dark brown hair was starting to thin, and his blue eyes were flat and almost reptilian in their lack of warmth. Liam's only functioning eye widened.

 _Robert Shea_.

Liam hadn't seen him in over two years, not since his drug addiction had become too much of a problem to allow him to continue to run errands for the man. Icy fear stripped him of his voice and his stomach rolled, threatening to empty its meager contents. He knew Shea; he was not a man to cross.

"Liam, I've always known you weren't the sharpest tool in the shed, but I always thought at the very least, you had the survival instinct of a cockroach, and that you had enough intelligence to keep from getting stepped on. Apparently I was wrong."

"Mr … Mr. Shea." Liam's voice quivered, "I … I don't know what you're talking about."

Shea made a tsking sound before stepping back and allowing one of the goons to take his place.

The amount of pain surprised Liam, although the blow was expected. It caused his vision to white out, and for a moment Liam thought (hoped) he would pass out again.

When his vision cleared, Shea was in his face. "Let's try this again. I want you to think real hard," he said, rapping his knuckles against Liam's head for emphasis. "What has happened in your life over the last couple of days that I would be interested in?"

Liam's panicked mind frantically raced through his sporadic memories over the last few of days, until it finally landed on the Oak River hotel, the body, Cathy … _the_ _money_.

"I … I … I don't have your money, Sir. I swear," Liam begged, his voice rising in panic.

"Considering the flop house we found you at, I didn't think you did. But you were the one who rented that hotel, and since we found you alone, I have to ask. Where is sweet Catherine?" Shea asked, his voice cold. "Because the entire time you ran errands for me, Catherine was always by your side, so it begs the question: Where is she?"

Liam latched onto the name Catherine. "She took your money, Sir, and ran out on me. I haven't seen her since."

After he had woken up on that motel room floor a few days ago, he'd put as much distance between himself and Nashville as he could. He'd stopped in Philadelphia to score a hit. He had been woken from his blissed out haze by being yanked upright and thrown in the trunk of a car.

Shea's smile was cruelly amused. "So she ditched ya the second something better came along."

The truth of the statement burned. Liam wanted say something cutting, but his face and torso hurt, so he kept his mouth shut. He begged, "Sir, please, I don't have your money …"

Shea leaned in threateningly. "See, here's the thing, I know you don't have the money but lovely Catherine has been a mite harder to track down." He squatted down in front of Liam so they were at eye level. "Between me and you, Liam, she was always the smart one. Well, except for her taste in men."

Liam looked right into Shea's eyes. He saw no mercy within and knew their shared past would not save him.

"The only reason I am even bothering with you at all is you have to have some idea of where she is. So?"

"I swear I don't know …" Liam stuttered out.

Shea stood up abruptly. "Well, then I have no further use for you," he said in a flat, dismissive tone.

Liam watched in horror as Shea nodded and the goon on his right withdrew a gun, cocked it, and pointed it at his head. "No … no … Wait, I may know a few places we can look for her." Liam was crying; tears and snot were running down his face.

He saw Shea turn back. "Please I swear, just give me a little time. I can find her. Please."

Shea looked him over and grimaced like he found the whole scene distasteful. "Okay here's what were gonna do. I have too much going on right now to personally go after her myself. So I'll give you a chance to find her and my money. It will be a chance for you to redeem yourself."

Feeling a surge of hope that he might make it out alive for the first time since he had been picked up, Liam sputtered out, "I swear you won't regret this. I'll find her and bring your money back to Chicago."

Shea laughed coldly before sobering, "Liam I wouldn't trust you to fetch me a cup coffee. No, O'Shaughnessy here is going to go with you and make sure you don't get lost."

He nodded at the man to his right. O'Shaughnessy pulled Liam's head back by his hair and sent pain shooting through Liam's brain. Shea leaned over him and said, "Listen to me very carefully, Liam. If you don't find her, or if you try to ditch O'Shaughnessy, you are gonna wish I had put that bullet into your head."

Shea turned away. "Clean him up and stick to him like your life depends on it because it does. Lose him and that's it for you. Understood?"

O'Shaughnessy nodded gravely. His hard eyes settled on Liam. Liam looked away unable to meet the other man's gaze. He knew he could very well be looking at the man who would eventually kill him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Still loving all the reviews I am getting. They truly motivate me to keep on writing. Here's the new chapter! Warnings for discussions of underage prostitution, nothing graphic though.

* * *

 **~NCIS~**

Setting his plate on the counter by the sink, Tim honestly didn't think he would ever be able to eat anything ever again. He was stuffed. Shuffling into the living room, Tim couldn't help smiling a bit at the state of everyone else who had come to Thanksgiving dinner at Ducky's house. On the couch, Ziva and Jimmy were talking quietly but looking fairly comatose. Jackson was dozing his head slumped to the side in the recliner near the fire and Abby who sat in the opposite chair, was also fast asleep if the soft snoring noise was anything to go by. Tim allowed the coziness of the scene to settle over him; these people were Gibbs' family, so Tim supposed that they were now his family as well.

One thing was for sure: This thanksgiving was much better than last year's. Last year, he had forgotten the holiday completely. His mom had shoved five dollars into his hand whilst pushing him out the door of the house they were squatting in and told him to go to the corner store for some food. It would be the first thing he had to eat all day, so Tim had trudged his way through dirty slush and half melted snow. By the time he reached the store, his shoes and the lower half of his pants were wet and Tim was in a bad mood. Which wasn't improved by the note on the market's door that announced with its bold letters and cartoon Turkeys, that the store was closed for Thanksgiving and would be open tomorrow. Tim had just stood there and tried not to cry while clutching the now useless money in one hand and furiously wiping at his face with the other. He knew that if he went back to the house looking like he had been crying, Liam would make fun of him for the rest of the night.

Shaking his head to clear the memories from his mind and truly thankful that he was here, Tim went to grab his book when Ducky walked up and stood next to him. In a huff the older man said, "Can you believe that Jethro and Tony have kicked me out of my own kitchen?"

Chuckling lightly at how affronted Ducky sounded, Tim gave him a sympathetic smile. Although he was glad the medical examiner didn't have to do the mountain of dishes. As he had cooked a lot of the meal they had all just eaten, it wouldn't seem fair for him to have to wash them as well.

"Well, since I will not be allowed to wash dishes would you like to continue our game of chess?" Ducky asked, gesturing towards the side table and chairs. The chess set was still set up with the pieces exactly where they had left them the last time Gibbs and Tim had come over for dinner.

"Sure," Tim said enthusiastically. He had enjoyed learning how the game was played, plus Ducky told the best stories as he was teaching.

Tim sat down and tried to reorient himself to where they had left off. He listened intently as Ducky once again went over the moves each piece was allowed to do. Soon they were engrossed in their game with Ducky giving little bits of advice when asked and when he felt they were needed. Tim had been a bit embarrassed when he had made mistakes at first, but Ducky had a way of smoothing over his blundering that made learning fun and not stressful. He would weave stories and musings in-between the chess moves. Ducky would gently nudge Tim whenever he would get frustrated and started to feel bogged down in what move to make next.

"You're a good teacher," Tim commented when there was a lull in the storytelling and he was contemplating his next move.

Ducky looked surprised but then smiled. "Why, thank you, Timothy. I know my brand of imparting information is not everyone's cup of tea, so to speak, but it gets the job done, in my experience."

Tim nodded and then moved his knight with a wince because he knew it probably wasn't the best move, but it was the only one he could think of right then. "I just wanted to say thank you for taking so much time with me, not only with chess but also keeping me company on Thursdays."

A couple of weeks ago, Jackson had started meeting with other hobbyists on Thursdays at the local VA. So every Thursday afternoon, Jackson would pick Tim up at the library and then drop him off at Ducky's house. Tim would do his homework until dinner time, and then he would read or they would play chess, depending on their mood. If he got off of work on time, Gibbs would join them for dinner and hang out after. Then they joined Jackson at home.

"Now, Timothy, it is no bother. In fact I have come to look forward to our Thursdays together." Ducky got a faraway look and his voice lowered like he was mostly talking to himself. "With Mother gone this past year and Jimmy taking more of a lead in Autopsy, I find myself with more time on my hands. Being semi-retired has its perks, but it also has its cons as well. Plus you remind me of a young person I knew once upon a time, someone whom I miss terribly."

"Who?" Tim asked in a low voice. He almost didn't want to break the moment of confidence because for all of Ducky's stories and all he had taught Tim, Tim still didn't feel like he really knew that much about him.

Tim watched as Ducky hesitated a moment, as though internally struggling with something, before he nodded almost to himself and said, "Come with me."

Following Ducky into the library, Tim couldn't help but once again be in awe over the sheer amount of books being held in one room. He was looking forward to Ducky receiving his Christmas gift from Gibbs. Ducky stopped in front of a bookcase and bent down and plucked a rather large black photo album from the bottom shelf. He placed it on the large oak desk that stood in the center of the room.

As Ducky opened the album Tim saw it was an old-fashioned one the kind with black pages and white placeholders to keep the photos in place. Carefully flipping the pages, Ducky turned to the middle of the book and talked softly to himself, "Hm where is it? ….Ah, there it is!"

He gently removed one photo from the middle of the page and, presented it to Tim. Tim didn't reach for it as it looked fragile, as though at some point it had been crumpled and smoothed back out. Damage lines ran through the photo, but Tim could see a much younger version of Ducky in a uniform and a kid who was obviously a few years younger than him.

At Tim's questioning look, Ducky said, pointing to the photo, "As you have probably discerned, this is me. The young man standing next to me is my half-brother Nicolas."

Tim couldn't help but be surprised. He had never heard of any other family other than Ducky's mother. Considering how sad Ducky looked as he gazed at the photo, Tim had a feeling this story did not end well.

"My brother was a bright, lively, loving, little boy who deserved better than the brief life that fate seemed fit to give him. I wanted Nicolas to come and live with me, and it almost happened, but my stepmother took him away. I never saw him again. They soon passed away from a car accident," Ducky said quietly. His accent became heavier as his voice became thick with emotion.

"I'm sorry, Ducky," Tim said, knowing how insufficient those three words were, but he was never sure how to respond to such stories.

Ducky seemed to pull himself together and smiled at Tim. "Oh, I didn't share that story with you to make you or myself feel poorly, I wanted you to know that your company is never a burden or a chore. I haven't spoken much about Nicolas, and it will be good to be able to speak about him freely once again. If you wouldn't mind me sharing more about him from time to time?"

"No, of course not, Ducky. I would love to hear about him." Tim meant it. He knew what it was like to hold back parts of your past from people in your life and how much of a burden it could start to feel. He hadn't been exactly forthcoming with Gibbs about his life pre showing up in Stillwater, mostly because he was embarrassed and ashamed of a lot of what he had been through. Plus he wasn't sure how to bring the past up, or even if he should. Maybe it would be best to leave it buried.

They returned to their chess game and at first, Ducky seemed quieter, like he was lost in the past, but soon Ducky's gregarious personality started to shine through once again. They had just finished the game with Tim conceding defeat when Tony and Gibbs came back into the room.

Tony walked up and clapped Tim on the shoulder as he said jovially, "I hear there is a comic book fair happening this weekend that you would like to go to." At Tim's eager nod, Tony chuckled and continued, "I am a comic book aficionado myself. Which is your favorite?"

"Batman, but I like anything D.C." Tim answered, excitement lighting his voice.

Tony clutched at his chest in exaggeration as though in pain. "Say it ain't so! The betrayal!"

At Tim's laugh, Tony gave him a wink and then said, "I am a Marvel man myself. Iron man, Captain America, the Avengers-all great comics. So I was thinking. If you want, I could pick you up on Saturday and we could go check out the sale."

Tim couldn't agree fast enough and they worked out the details. He couldn't wait.

 **~NCIS~**

 _Saturday_

The grey clouds hung low in the sky, but so far had not released the rain they seemed to promise. Gibbs held open the door for Tim. Tony had dropped them off out front and was currently searching for a parking spot. The street was jam packed with people and cars, and the store was no less busy as Tim and Gibbs tried to weave their way through the stacks and people that were looking through them. The store was larger than Tim had first thought; the front section was pure comic books, extended back until midway into the store. In the middle was merchandise and at the back stood tables for D&D games and tournaments that were held at the store.

It was the coffee cart that was tucked back into the corner that caught Gibbs' eye. "I am going to go get a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?"

Glancing at the cart, Tim noticed the very long line, shook his head, and craned his neck to where he could just make out the D.C. section towards the front of the store. Gibbs chuckled at the rapt expression on his son's face before saying, "Go ahead, I will find you when I am done."

Smiling his thanks, Tim took off as quickly as the large crowd would let him. Being smaller had its advantages; he wove his way through the crowd easily. The D.C. section butted up against the front window. Tim soon lost himself in the worlds of Gotham, Metropolis, and Themyscira.

He was just reaching for the latest copy of the New 52 Batman when he glanced up and saw a red suburban pull up, but it was who was getting out of the passenger side that had Tim smiling. Placing the comic back on the stand and eager to say hi to his friend, he went out the front door.

Jude was wearing his normal blue long sleeve jean jacket over a black t-shirt and jeans, clothes that were very unsuitable for the chilly weather. Tim made a mental note to see if he could persuade Jude to let him buy him a jacket at a thrift store or something. The older boy had to be half frozen. Tim felt his concern grow the longer he watched him. Jude seemed tired. He had dark circles under his eyes and he was pale. As the suburban pulled away, Jude opened his hand and revealed several bills before he shoved them into his pocket and started down the street.

And in that moment Tim understood.

He felt awareness steal over him slowly at first, and then the realization seemed to explode inside his brain. The various cars he had seen pickup and drop off Jude. His friend's unfinished sentences or the way he had avoided Tim's questions on money and supporting himself. He felt stupid. He should have put it all together before now. He has watched his mom live this life for as long as he could remember. Tim almost called out to Jude but in the end decided not to; he needed to think about this and how he could approach his friend. Jude had a lot of pride and considering he hadn't been forthcoming with Tim about where he got his money left Tim with the feeling that Jude didn't want him to know. Tim respected that, but at the same time he wanted his one friend to know he didn't have to hide.

"Hey, Tim, were you waiting for me?"

Tim turned away from the rapidly retreating figure and gave Tony a quick nod and a weak smile. Tony held open the door for him, and as they went inside Tim's mind was going a million miles a minute. He could feel his anxiety start to ramp up, so when Tony started in on Marvel vs. D.C., Tim allowed himself to be distracted, vowing to think about it later.

 **~NCIS~**

 _Saturday night_

Gibbs was in the kitchen where he was putting the finishing touches on the marinade. He was planning on grilling the steaks Sunday evening. After pouring the marinade over the steaks in the Tupperware container, Gibbs put the lid on and checked to make sure it was sealed tight before he gave it a good shake so the steaks were thoroughly coated. Glancing at the clock over the doorway, he saw it was already going on ten o'clock. Gibbs stowed the steaks in the fridge for tomorrow. Tim had gone to bed early. Although considering he'd held his new stack of comics they had purchased that afternoon in his arms, Gibbs very much doubted his son would be sleeping anytime soon.

Gibbs was a bit … concerned. Just a bit though. Tim had seemed distracted at dinner; even the talkative Tony hadn't been able to keep Tim present and engaged in conversation. After Tony left, Tim had helped Jackson load the dishwasher and then begged off a movie that Gibbs had suggested.

Switching off the kitchen light, Gibbs walked into the living room. He intended to go down into the basement but stopped upon seeing his father sitting next to the fireplace. His hobby magazine was open on his lap. He wasn't reading it, though; instead, he was staring thoughtfully into the fire. Wanting to check in with him and make sure everything was okay, Gibbs sat in the chair opposite.

Taking a shot in the dark, Gibbs asked, "Heard you talking to Johnny on the phone. How's the store doing?"

Jackson looked up, startled. "Oh, it's doing real nice, no complaints. The customers have handled the transition well. Everything is going well _there_."

"But not here?" Gibbs asked wondering if his father was regretting giving up his business, "Are you doing okay?"

Jackson finally seemed to really look at him. "Oh, son, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." When Gibbs raised one eyebrow in disbelief he chuckled lightly before continuing. "I'm not going to try to snow you into believing I don't miss the store at all. I do, but I had already been planning my retirement before Tim came into our lives, so I was ready to end that chapter of my life. Plus what I have received in return is so much more than what I had."

Jackson stopped and cleared his throat. "That's not what I was worrying about. Now I believe everyone has a right to privacy, so I wasn't trying to snoop…" Jackson started, then he turned to face Gibbs. His face was earnest. "I was putting Tim's clothes away in his dresser when I knocked over his backpack, the one he showed up at my house with. I went to pick it back up and I noticed it was full of clothes. I put it back and didn't touch anything else, but it worries me. That he seems ready to leave at a moment's notice."

Gibbs sat back; he wasn't surprised at the information. Tim seemed to be settling in okay, but it had only been a month since Tim had come to live with them. He also understood his father's worry. "I don't think he's going anywhere. It will take a while for him to feel comfortable enough with us to no longer need a safety net, which is what I think his backpack represents. It's going to take time and patience. We just need to be here for him. Show him he has a family now that he can trust and rely on."

Gibbs got up and placed a comforting hand on his father's shoulder. Jackson reached up and squeezed his hand, then nodded as he picked up his magazine and started reading. Continuing on to the basement, Gibbs made a note to check in with his father more often. All of their lives had been drastically changed over the last couple of weeks and they needed to support each other. Maybe over Christmas break, they could spend a weekend in Stillwater; his father had mentioned needing to close up the house on a more permanent basis.

 **~NCIS~**

It was a blustery Monday afternoon as Tim walked down the stairs of the library. The wind was so fierce that it was trying to push him sideways. Looking both ways down the sidewalk, Tim searched for a familiar stock of black hair. Finally standing on tippy-toes, Tim spied Jude sitting on their regular bench about a half a block away.

As he walked towards his friend, Tim felt a spark of fear start up in his chest; he had spent most of Sunday going over what he wanted to say to Jude, but he still felt unprepared. He was almost at Jude's side before the older teen noticed him, and when he did he said with a smile, "Hey kid."

Tim smiled, and for a moment almost talked himself into not saying anything, not wanting anything to change the look of happiness on the teen's face.

Sitting down next to Jude, Tim asked, "How was your weekend?" He was glad to that his friend was looking more rested and that his color was better than it had been on Saturday.

With a tilt of his head, Jude replied, "It was good."

"Good ... good," Tim said disjointedly. He shuffled his backpack off his shoulders and placed it at his feet as the silence lengthened between them.

Jude looked at him quizzically. Maybe sensing his unease he said, "How was Thanksgiving? Was it as awkward as you feared?"

Tim relaxed a bit at the question. "Actually it was pretty good. I like my dad's ... Gibbs' teammates. They are like family to him and they seem to be pretty decent people. In fact, Tony and Gibbs took me to the comic book store's sale on Saturday."

Jude sat up a bit straighter, looking excited. "Oh yeah. Did you buy anything?"

Unzipping and reaching into his backpack, Tim answered, "Actually, Gibbs did let me get a few. I even offered to pay him back, but he said I didn't have to, so that was awesome." Pulling out the stack of six comics, Tim handed them over to Jude.

Watching as Jude looked through them, Tim made little comments along the way about which he had read and what he thought of each one. The first four were Batman comics, but when Jude got to the last two and saw they were of Superman, his usual scowl softened into a smile as he oohed and awed over them.

"Wow, I didn't know this one was out yet ..."

"Jude, I know," Tim blurted out, unable to hold back any longer.

Jude looked at him oddly before saying, "You know what?" His voice sounded guarded.

"I saw you on Saturday. I know what you do for a living," Tim said in a rush.

Jude lost all color in his face. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but nothing came out. He looked ready to bolt, so Tim quickly launched into his speech. "Look, I don't care what you do for a living. My mom did the same thing, so I sorta understand being desperate enough to seek out that type of work."

Tim saw that Jude was still tense, but he no longer looked like he wanted to run. He was afraid to push too hard in case he pushed his only friend away, but he had to ask something. "Is someone forcing you to do this?"

Jude's eyebrows raised up at Tim's question. "What, you mean like a pimp?" At Tim's shrug, Jude continued, "I have tried to avoid anyone like that. Being on my own means I don't have to split the money." He paused and seemed to be considering his words, then he continued, "My mom left my dad and me when I was a baby, and later, when I was around ten, we heard she died in a car accident. My dad worked construction, and so we moved from job to job. Basically, we lived in our car until I was twelve, and then he remarried. My stepmom and I never really got along, but we managed to either avoid each other or make nice when my dad was around."

Jude took out a cigarette and lit it with hands that shook. "When I was fifteen, my dad was killed at a job site. Within a month, my stepmom and I were at each other's throats. That's when I started to runaway and the police would then bring me back. I would stick around for a day or two and then I would leave again. On my sixteenth birthday, my stepmom washed her hands of me, and gave me up to foster care.

"I stayed one night at the group home they placed me in and then made the brilliant decision to run away to the big city with my vast savings of three hundred dollars." Jude gave a hollow laugh and took another drag off his cigarette. He blew the smoke away from Tim before he continued. "I rented the cheapest room I could find and ate as little as possible, but eventually, I had to do something or I was going to end up homeless, so I turned my first trick to pay the rent on my piece of shit hotel room and the one meal I eat a day and that's what I have been doing ever since." Finishing in a rush, Jude took another long drag of his cigarette. The comics lay forgotten on his lap.

Tim had listened intently, surprised but glad that Jude was sharing this much about his past. He had been half afraid that Jude would walk away and never want to speak to him again. "I'm sorry. Is there anything I could do?"

"Like what?" Jude challenged.

"I could ask my dad if you could come live with us?" Tim said, warming to the idea now that he said it out loud. They could share a room or Jude could sleep on the couch.

The teen immediately squished the idea with a shake of his head, "No way. Your dad is a cop, right?'

"Yes, so?" Tim said a bit defensively.

"I am a minor. By law, he would have to turn me in. No, thank you. I would rather live this life then live in a group home," Jude spat out taking another drag of his cigarette. His knee began to bounce up and down rapidly, showing how irritated and nervous he was becoming.

Tim nodded, although unhappy he respected his friend's decision, but he also needed to do something for him. He didn't have any money, not really, so he wasn't sure how he could actually help.

Just then, as though an answer to prayer, Jude's stomach rumbled and Tim remembered that he had let slip that he was only eating one meal a day. Setting the comics aside, Tim reached into his backpack again and pulled out his lunch. He had gotten caught up reading his comics and hadn't eaten his sandwich earlier. And although he was hungry he had food waiting for him back at home; Jude did not.

Tim offered Jude his sandwich. The teen squinted at him. Then he took one last drag off his cigarette and threw it on the sidewalk, where he ground it underneath his shoe.

"That's your lunch. You should eat it."

"Listen, I could make an extra sandwich on the days that I am going to be coming here to the library and bring it with me, so at the very least three times a week, you could have two meals a day."

Jude just looked at him. Tim begged, "Please."

Jude glanced at the sandwich and then his eyes seemed to bore into Tim's. Finally he said, "Why would you do that for me?"

Tim shrugged. "You're my friend."

Jude stared at him a minute, eyebrows drawn together as though confused. Then he shook his head in resignation and took the sandwich, unwrapped it and begun to eat. Tim was so relieved that he started talking a mile a minute, mostly small talk about anything and everything. He knew he was babbling but he was so happy that Jude wasn't mad about Tim knowing, and that his friend was going to allow him to help, at least a little bit.

As Jude finished his sandwich, he said with a long, suffering sigh, "Hey kid, take a breath. It's okay."

Tim abruptly stopped and with a chagrined look on his face, he picked up the comics. Giving Jude first choice of which he wanted to read, Tim started reading his own. They took turns pointing out the interesting scenes as Tim waited for Jackson.

 **~NCIS~**

Making two sandwiches on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays didn't actually raise any eyebrows or bring about any awkward questions, since Tim was in charge of making his own lunches anyway. Tim still wished Jude would allow him to tell Gibbs. He was pretty sure his father would help, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure Jude wouldn't end up in foster care so he kept his mouth shut. So the boys would sit on the benches and Jude would eat the food Tim brought and they would talk. Tim learned more about Jude's past. Jude and his dad, whose name was Jonathan, sounded like they had a close relationship and that Jude was well taken care of when the man had been alive. Tim opened up about Gibbs, Jackson, and his new family, and even told Jude about his writing. It turned out that Jude was a good sounding board when it came to plot details. He always listened intently, and then gave Tim some good feedback.

Tim managed to even talk a bit about his mom and Liam, although he left out a couple of the confrontations he had had with Liam. He knew Jude would not judge him by the names that Liam had called him but Tim just couldn't get the words out of his mouth. Any time he tried, a feeling of shame welled up in him and so he choked them back. Those words continued to bother him. He shouldn't care what a man like Liam thought of him, but for some reason he did.

The weeks passed by and Christmas break was almost upon them. Tim was determined to convince Jude to come to his house for Christmas because it seemed too sad to allow his friend to spend the holidays alone. He had tried to broach the subject a couple of times but Jude had shut him down each time and he hadn't wanted to push it. It was on the last Wednesday before Christmas break that Tim tried again. This would be the last time he would be able to talk to Jude for two weeks. Unless he could convince Gibbs or Jackson to drop him off at the comic book store, and Jude just happened to walk by which seemed unlikely.

They were both huddled near the glass doors in the lobby of the library. Tim was trying to keep an eye out for Jackson's truck, but the relentless downpour outside was making it difficult. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the wind was more of a gale than a breeze. He wanted to make sure he saw the truck right away because he didn't want his grandfather to get out in this weather.

Glancing over at Jude, Tim couldn't help but ask, "Are you okay?"

When he had first seen his friend this afternoon, he had been pretty soaked. The older boy had been standing under one of the library's vents trying to warm up. Tim had given Jude his sandwich and then had gone into tutoring. When he had returned, the teen was by the front doors. He looked drier although still damp. Jude had a frown on his face and his too slender frame seemed to have a permanent shiver to it.

"Sure," Jude ground out, trying to plaster on his usual smirk only to fail as another tremor wound its way up his spine and caused him to shudder violently.

"Uh, ha," Tim said disbelievingly as he took off his jacket and offered it to Jude. "Here, take this."

 **~NCIS~**

Jude started to shake his head, but then another reflexive tremor made him bend his pride and take the proffered jacket. What was it about the kid that had Jude breaking all of his own rules? Like his number one rule of never accepting anything from anyone because then you owed them, and most of the time, what they wanted in return was not worth it. Putting the jacket on, he couldn't help but pointedly look at the bright yellow flannel lining.

Seeing the look, Tim said with a laugh, "I know it is super ugly, but trust me it will warm you up in no time."

Tim was right. The jacket was ugly, but it was also the warmest Jude had felt in days. He briefly closed his eyes in bliss before reopening them and seeing a familiar look on his friend's face. Jude could tell Tim was steeling himself to ask him something, and considering what he had been harping on for the last few days, Jude knew what he was going to ask. The kid's heart was in the right place, but he needed to be realistic. There was no way any cop would invite a disreputable person like him into his home. Plus Jude wouldn't feel comfortable being surrounded by people who would arrest him on any other day. So he waited Tim out and braced himself to disappoint his young friend.

"So, um, I was thinking ..." Tim started.

"No."

"Jude, come on. You can't be alone for Christmas," Tim pleaded.

Jude turned towards Tim. "Look, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I was alone last year and it didn't kill me."

"But ..."

"What are you going to tell your dad about me?" Jude said impatiently.

"I'll tell him I have a friend who ... who ..." Tim faltered.

"No matter what lie you concocted, he would want to speak with my parents to clear it with them," Jude interjected to put an end to Tim's stammering. "And then what would you say?"

Tim stared down at his feet and shook his head in denial.

"Hey, kid," Jude started to say, but when Tim wouldn't look at him, he reached over and tugged on his sleeve until he did. "I will be alright. In two weeks, I will meet you back here on the steps of this library. Okay?"

Tim nodded, but he didn't look happy. A flash of dull yellow had them squinting through the window, past the deluge of water.

Tim said in a resigned voice, "My Grandpa's here."

Jude started to remove his jacket, but Tim held up his hands and said in a rush, "No, no, keep it."

Looking at his friend and gesturing at the mess outside the window, Jude said in disbelief, "You can't be serious?"

Tim quickly slung his backpack onto his back, "Look I will get mildly wet in the thirty seconds it takes me to get to the car. You still have to walk back to your hotel. Keep my jacket."

"Kid ..." Jude started saying, following Tim to the door.

"I will be alright," Tim interrupted. "Plus its only two week's right?" Tim said with a wide smile.

Jude couldn't help but laugh at his own words being used against him. "Okay you got me there."

Tim sobered up. With one hand on the door, he said, "Be careful. I'll see you in two weeks."

Giving him a gentle shove out the door, Jude said, "Two weeks. Now get out of here before your grandfather gets out of the car."

With one last wave, Tim rushed down the stairs and practically dove into the waiting truck.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. It totally makes my day! Here is the new chapter. Warnings for discussions of violence against a teenager, and discussions of underage prostitution.

* * *

 **~NCIS~**

 _Thursday Morning_

Placing the van in park, Tony quickly got out and dashed across the parking lot to reach the overhang of the ratty motel they had been dispatched to. Even with the full out run, he was fairly soaked by the time he was sheltered underneath. Gibbs and Ziva, who had driven in a separate car, soon joined him, and then they trooped down the hall and up a flight of stairs. Once they turned the corner, they were met by the local detective who had called them. Introductions were quickly made, and then the detective escorted them down the hall to the cordoned off hotel room.

Detective Smithson, appeared to be in his early sixties, with grey hair, blue eyes, and fairly heavyset. He opened his notebook and read off the details of the case so far. "As near as we can tell the suspect picked up the victim down the street in front of the library. From the desk clerk we found out the victim has rented this room for over a year. The clerk didn't outright admit it but we are pretty certain the victim is a prostitute. According to the clerk the name on the books is John Smith, which is obviously fake.

"We are not sure exactly what went down, but at some point, things got violent. The suspect, Gilbert Winslow, seems to be under the influence of some sort of narcotics. He beat the victim within an inch of his life. The police were called. Once we got the suspect in handcuffs and found his ID, we saw he was a Marine on leave, so we called you. The victim went to St. Mary's. EMTs didn't want to speculate if he would make it or not, but it didn't look good."

The detective ushered them into the hotel room but stayed outside to talk to the patrolman guarding the door. Tony whistled lowly; the room was thrashed. Tables were overturned, mirrors were shattered, and there was blood splatters here and there. Stepping gingerly, Tony started taking photographs. He heard Gibbs getting more details from Smithson, and Ziva walked past him to photograph the opposite side of the room. Tony saw something that made him pause and latch onto something the detective had said. Taking a photo, Tony then reached under an overturned side table. He pulled out torn Superman comic.

With a sickening feeling settling in his stomach, Tony shouted, "Detective?" When Smithson and Gibbs turned around, Tony asked, holding up the comic, "How old did you say the vic was?"

"There was no ID and the desk clerk keeps insisting that his boss wouldn't rent to anyone underage, but I would be surprised if the victim was at most seventeen if not younger. Shame," Smithson said, looking world weary as he shook his head, and turned back to a now very grim Gibbs.

Catching his bosses' eye, Tony just nodded. He knew that look. Gibbs was always hyper focused when it came to cases involving kids. Placing the comic back where he found it, he continued to photograph the room.

He heard a gasp from Ziva and then his name said in a shaky whisper. Concerned over what would have the normally stoic former Mossad officer so rattled, Tony crossed the room. What he saw made his heart stop, but at the same time it felt like adrenalin flooded his whole body.

In her hands, Ziva held a green jacket with bright yellow flannel on the inside. She looked up at him and asked, "It can't be the same one right?"

Tony reached for the jacket, and gave her a weak smile. "No, of course not, it must be just similar." But even to his own ears his words sounded uncertain, and when he opened the jacket, he saw on the label the faded name of Leroy Gibbs. "It can't be."

"Tim ... Tim ... is with Ducky today, correct? It is Thursday, so he should be with him?" Ziva said as though trying to convince herself and Tony.

Tony opened his mouth to offer up empty words of reassurance he didn't feel when he heard Gibbs behind him say, "What's the hold up? We need to wrap this up and speak to the suspect and ID the vic ..."

 **~NCIS~**

Once Gibbs had gotten what little extra detail he could glean from Smithson, he walked across the room to see what was keeping his agents. Their backs were turned away from him and they seemed to be having an intense conversation in hushed tones. When they turned, it wasn't their shocked expressions that had the blood draining from Gibbs face: It was the green jacket that was in Tony's hands.

Gibbs heard a roaring noise in his ears when he saw the bright yellow lining. He didn't even realize he had reached for it until it was already in his hands.

 _Kid ... underage_... _might not make it_ …

The detective's words echoed in his head. It wasn't until hands gripped his arms that he realized his knees had buckled. Flashes of Kelly, Shannon, and now Tim, went rapid fire through his head as Ziva and Tony lead him out of the room. He was vaguely aware of Ziva blocking the inquisitive detective as Tony lead him away from room 11b.

"Take a breath, boss. Otherwise, you are going to pass out," came the voice next to him. A hand gripped his arm tightly, supporting the majority of his weight.

Gibbs followed the instructions and took in a couple of deep breaths. Breathing in the damp, cold air helped tremendously. It had been a long time since he had a flashback; they were just as nasty as he remembered. "I need to call Ducky; I need to talk to..." Gibbs voice trailed off as he fumbled for his phone only to drop it because his hands shook too much. He knew it couldn't be Tim. He had driven Tim over to Ducky's this morning. They were going to go do some early Christmas shopping before spending the day playing chess at Ducky's home. Tim had become obsessed with the game and Ducky was only too happy to feed into that interest.

Tony reached down and picked up the phone for him. Opening the old flip phone, he dialed Ducky's number and put it on speaker phone.

Ducky's voice sounded tinny. "Hello, Jethro. I wasn't expecting to hear from you already. I was just telling Tim..."

"Ducky!" Gibbs interrupted his friend shouting before lowering his voice. "Please. I need to speak to Tim."

"Okay, one moment," Ducky said, his tone now worried as well.

They heard a faint _Timothy_ then the sound of footsteps before, "Hello."

Gibbs closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. His voice shook slightly when he said, "Hello Tim."

"Is everything okay?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out, so Tony jumped in, "Yeah buddy, we're fine. Are you guys at Ducky's right now?"

"No, we ran a couple of errands, but we are heading there now."

Gibbs finally managed to pull the various threads of his scattered thoughts back together, "Okay, good, when you get there, stay there. I will meet you."

Getting Tim and Ducky's assent, Gibbs ended the call and turned to Tony and Ziva just as the latter joined them with a concerned look on her face. "Tony, Ziva, finish the scene. Then go and see if Sergeant Winslow is coherent enough to answer any questions. I want to know what happened. I'm going to speak to Tim and ask him how his jacket ended up here. Maybe he can ID the vic."

"Sure, boss. Are you going to be okay?" Tony asked doubtfully.

"I'll be fine. Do your jobs, work the scene, I'll call you," Gibbs said dismissively, already heading for the stairs. He now knew Tim was okay, but he needed to see him just to be sure.

 **~NCIS~**

Sitting at the kitchen table, Tim was trying to write in his story journal. He had missed writing; school plus tutoring had put a kibosh on most of his extracurricular activities. He managed to write a few paragraphs, but his thoughts keep going back to the phone call with his father. Something was up; Gibbs' voice had sounded shaky and weird. Tim didn't like that. His father was a rock, and he hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on that until now. He could feel his stomach churning as he ran over the various scenarios of what could have happened.

Ducky had just placed a snack of fruit, cheese, and crackers in front of him when the front door opened. Gibbs hung up his jacket, and when Ducky went over to greet him, they had a conversation in low tones that Tim wasn't able to hear. Ducky nodded gravely, sending Tim a sympathetic look, and then went into the living room. Gibbs came and sat next to Tim.

His father just looked at him for a minute before taking in a deep breath as though steeling himself for something unpleasant. Tim felt the churning in his stomach become an ache as the tension increased.

Gibbs looked into his eyes and said, "Tim, something happened today, and I need to ask you some questions. These answers are important, and I need you to be completely honest with me. Okay?"

Tim swallowed nervously said in a quiet tone, "Okay."

"We were called onto a scene this afternoon, at the Sunshine hotel ..."

Tim gasped and stood up abruptly. Tears came to his eyes. "No, please tell me Jude is okay."

Gibbs had stood as soon as Tim had. Placing a tentative hand on Tim's shoulder, he said in a gentle voice, "A young man was taken to the hospital. He was beaten severely and is in serious condition."

Tim took in a deep breath; at least Jude was alive. "Is he going to be okay?

"We don't know that yet," Gibbs said gently before continuing, "He was staying in room 11b. Was that Jude's room?"

"Yeah, that was his room," Tim whispered, his mind reeling with all the worst case scenarios running through his brain.

"Do you know Jude's last name?' Gibbs asked.

"Carrington. Jude was his middle name. That's what his dad used to call him, and since he died, that's all he goes by. I don't know his first name." Tim said. His knees felt weak, so he sat down. Gibbs reluctantly let go of his son's arm, and gave it a soft pat, and he took a seat opposite of Tim's.

He pulled out his phone and texted the information to Ziva and Tony before looking up and asking, "How did you meet?"

Tim said, "He helped me once at the computer lab in the library and then with a panic attack I had outside the library. We would hang out together while I waited for grandpa. Jude … he didn't want to be a … He had no choice …" Tim trailed off, wiping at his eyes so the tears wouldn't fall. He didn't know how to finish that sentence, so he just went with the most important thing he knew about Jude. "He's a good person and he's my friend. My only friend."

Gibbs nodded sympathetically and then asked, "Did he ever mention a man by the name of Gilbert Winslow? Maybe he was a friend, or someone who was bothering him, or maybe a client?"

Tim shook his head. Jude had never mentioned anyone by that name. Jude didn't really like to talk about his clients.

Gibbs' phone beeped, but he ignored it and continued on. "I know you said his father was dead but do you know where his mom is, or any other relatives?"

This time, Tim vehemently shook his head. "No, his mom died when he was a kid and it was just him and his dad. Then after his father died, he was put in foster care. Jude hated it there and ran away." Tim saw Gibbs making a note in his notebook and he hurried on his words tripping over themselves. "Please … please, don't turn him in to foster care. Jude is terrified to go back. That's why I never told you about him. I wanted to invite him over for Christmas, but he was afraid you would turn him in. He made me promise … Please."

"Tim," Gibbs said gently, a look of compassion on his face. "How old is Jude?"

Dejection in every syllable, Tim whispered, "Sixteen." He knew what his father was going to say.

"I'm sorry, son. Since he is a minor, the state needs to be involved."

Tim looked down, unable to meet his father's eyes. He knew what Gibbs said was the truth, and since Gibbs worked for the government, he had no choice but to call CPS, but Tim had been hoping that his father could work miracles.

When Tim heard a soft _hey_ , he looked up, and Gibbs said, "We will do everything we can to help him. Okay?"

Tim remembered Gibbs making a similar promise to him a month ago and at the time, he hadn't believed him. Now looking into his father's eyes, he could see that Gibbs was being sincere, so he said in a rough voice, "Okay. So what happens now?"

Gibbs' phone beeped again. He glanced at it and closing his notebook, took in a deep breath. "Well for now I have to go meet up with Tony and Ziva. We'll see where the investigation takes us."

The doorbell rang and Ducky, bundled up in his jacket, opened the door. Jackson stepped through the doorway and another quiet conversation was had, this time between Jackson and Ducky. Jackson glanced over at Tim and Gibbs and then took off his jacket placing it on the hall tree.

Gibbs stood up and Tim stood with him opening his mouth to ask about Jude but his father beat him to it. "I will keep you up to date about Jude. For now, stay here, Ducky is coming with me. He is going to be with Jude and make sure he is getting the best care. Jackson will take you home."

Tim nodded and walked with Gibbs to the door. His eyes felt heavy with unshed tears. He needed Jude to be okay. At the front door, Gibbs turned, and he looked like he wanted to give Tim a hug, but he hesitated. Tim didn't feel like shying away, but at the same time, something was holding him back. He couldn't remember the last time he had been hugged by anybody; at times it felt like there was an invisible wall between him and everyone else. Trapped in his indecision, Tim didn't move and the moment seemed to pass.

Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Are you going to be okay?"

Tim nodded before he managed a rough, "Yeah," and tried to give a brave smile in return. He must have been somewhat successful because Gibbs smiled in return. Then he turned and held open the door for Ducky and they left.

Tim wanted to chase after Gibbs and ask to go with him. He felt useless here. Jude needed his help. In the end he realized that he would probably be more of a burden then any real help, so Tim sat back down at the kitchen table. Staring at his book without really seeing it, Tim could only think about how Jude could be dead or dying right now. At the very least, he was in pain. Tim worried about what that man had done to his friend. His thoughts were spiraling, imagining worse and worse situations, when a cup of hot tea was set before him. A bit started, Tim looked up as Jackson stood next to him. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't even heard the kettle.

"A burden shared is a burden halved, has always been something I have tried to live by. Do you want to talk about it?" Jackson said as he sat down.

Trying to keep the tears at bay, Tim drew the tea towards him. He nodded; he knew his grandfather was right. Right now, Tim felt like he had a million pound weight on his shoulders. Looking into his grandfather's eyes he saw understanding and love. In that instant, Tim understood something that he hadn't before: Jackson loved him. Taking a sip of the too hot tea, Tim tried to compose himself and said, "Jude is a friend of mine, and I guess he's been badly hurt …"

 **~NCIS~**

File folder in hand, Gibbs stood staring at their suspect Gilbert Winslow through the two sided mirror. The man was no longer high as a kite. Instead, he was pale and his hands shook. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and he continuously ran his hands through his short dark hair. Making himself familiar with the particulars of Winslow's file, Gibbs paused at the photos taken at the crime scene, but it was the photos of Jude that made his blood boil. The teen was barely recognizable from the picture they received from Child Protective Services. Thomas Jude Carrington was only sixteen years old. He deserved better than what fate had seen fit to throw at him.

Ducky was at the hospital to bag any physical evidence that was discovered. Ziva was with him and had taken photos of Jude and then sent them over. They had plenty of evidence, but a confession would make things much easier on the prosecution and on the victim, if he recovered. After nodding at Tony, who stood beside him uncharacteristically grim and silent, Gibbs went into the interrogation room.

Sitting down in the grey metal chair, Gibbs opened the file folder and putting its contents into two neat piles: one contained photos, the other Winslow's service record. Gibbs looked up and held Winslow's gaze until the other man looked away. Only then did Gibbs speak. "Lieutenant Winslow, you want to tell me what happened in that hotel room?"

"I … I … don't know," the man stammered out, shaking his head in denial. "But I didn't do anything. I know that for sure," Gilbert exclaimed his voice full of confidence.

"You're sure? You were found standing over the victim, Lieutenant Winslow," Gibbs said his voice hard. Gibbs grabbed the stack of photos and spread them out in front of the shaking man. Some were of the thrashed hotel room, but the three that Gibbs put right in from of Winslow were pictures of Jude Carrington taken at the hospital. When Winslow's skittering gaze landed on everything except for the photos, Gibbs hit the table with the palm of his hand, causing the Lieutenant to jump. "Look at them. Look at what you did!"

The pictures showed Jude's swollen face. The skin around both eyes had already blackened. One side of his head was shaved. There was a row of stitches from his temple to the crown of his head. His nose was broken, and he was on a ventilator.

Finally, Winslow's eyes landed on the photos. His trembling seemed to increase. "I couldn't have done that," he said, shaking his head more vigorously. "I don't remember what happened, but there is no way I could have done that to him."

Angry, Gibbs picked up the file in front of him and flipped through a few pages, "July, 23, 2008, you were arrested for domestic violence against your girlfriend."

"I … I was never convicted," Winslow protested.

"She dropped the charges, got a restraining order, and left the state," Gibbs his voice firm and unyielding. "February, 17, 2012, arrested for a bar brawl. October 24, 2013, another domestic violence arrest, this time by the MP's. Charges dropped once again. August 4, 2015 …"

"Okay, okay!" Winslow shouted. His face was turning red.

"Seems to me you have a bit of a temper," Gibbs said softly.

"Yes, I do, but I couldn't have done that. I would have remembered it," Winslow insisted, looking off to the side.

"You were high as a kite at the time. How do you know what you did? Look at your hands." When Winslow refused with a silent shake of his head, Gibbs shouted: "Look at them!"

Winslow slowly brought his hands out from underneath the table held them out in front him. They were bruised, and streaks of blood had dried in the broken skin across his knuckles. Winslow's face lost all of its color, and then he seemed to fold in on himself in misery as he buried his head in his hands. He sobbed out, "I remember being so angry because he was talking back. He should've just kept his whore mouth shut and I wouldn't have hit him. I just get so angry I can't control myself. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Gibbs just shook his head in disgust. Two agents came in to stand the crying man up and handcuff him. As he gathered the photos and the file together, Gibbs said, "Lieutenant Gilbert Winslow, you are under arrest for criminal assault, soliciting a minor, and attempted murder."

 **~NCIS~**

It took Gibbs two tries to get his key to fit into the lock. He was so tired that his eyelids felt like sandpaper. Working the Carrington case through the night, they had gotten the paperwork done and filed as the clock struck two in the morning. Now it was after three. Gibbs was satisfied that it was an open and shut case. At the very least, they had Gilbert Winslow under lock and key; the violent man wouldn't hurt anyone else.

Closing the front door behind him, he saw the house was dark except for a lone light shining in the living room. Curious as to what was going on, Gibbs hung up his coat and walked into the living room. He was greeted by the sight of Timothy sleeping on the couch, a flannel blanket over him and his ever present journal on the floor where it had fallen from Tim's lax hand. Gibbs had a sense of Déjà vu to when he had walked into his father's living room and had seen Tim for the first time, asleep, clutching his backpack to his chest. At the time, he had not known if Tim was his son or not, but now he did, and he still felt so much joy because of that fact.

Gibbs sat on the coffee table; he picked up the journal off the floor and placed it on the table beside him. Then he gently shook Tim's shoulder to wake him. Tim blinked his eyes up at him and at first seemed confused, but as soon as he recognized him, his eyes widened and he sat up abruptly.

"Hey, Tim. What are you doing out here?" Gibbs kept his voice down as to not wake up Jackson.

Tim rubbed his eyes and yawned deeply before he said, "I wanted to be up when you got home to find out if you had any new information about Jude. I must have fallen asleep."

Gibbs could see the concern and worry in his son's eyes. He was starting to understand that Jude was someone Tim cared deeply about, so he wanted to set his mind at ease. "Jude is in intensive care and is doing as well as can be expected. They are hopeful he will make a full recovery, barring any unforeseen complications."

Tim gave him a small smile at the news, "Can I go and see him? Jude doesn't know anyone here, and I don't want him to be alone."

Gibbs wasn't sure Tim was ready to see his friend in the condition he was in. "Tim, Jude isn't conscious, and the doctors aren't sure when he will wake up."

Tim sat up straighter. His voice took on a pleading tone. "Please, Gibbs. Jude tries to act all tough, but he doesn't like being in new places. He'll be scared when he wakes up. He has a hard time trusting strangers."

Gibbs still wasn't sure, but Tim was strong. He had an inner core of strength that rivaled many adults he knew. Plus the look on his son's face was one of resolve; Gibbs had a feeling Tim would find a way to the hospital with or without his help. "Okay we'll go in the morning and see if they are allowing visitors yet."

The smile on Tim's face spoke of his relief at Gibbs acquiescence. "Thank you."

"But for now you need to go to bed," Gibbs said in mock sternness as he stood up. Tim readily agreed and practically bounced upstairs. As Gibbs followed, he worried that Tim did not know what he was in for tomorrow.

 **~NCIS~**

 _Tuesday_

The elevator brought them to the third floor. Stepping out, Tim was immediately enveloped by beige halls and beige carpet. This led him to wonder if all hospitals were decorated by the same people because all the ones he had ever seen had been done in the same boring color palette. Walking down the hallway next to his father, Tim recognized the man standing next to the nursing station with a chart in his hand.

"Ducky," Tim said in astonishment. He hadn't expected him here, but since his father didn't seem surprised, he figured he had known.

"Hello Timothy, how are you this morning?" Ducky asked, giving the chart back to the nurse.

"I'm fine", Tim said in a quickly. His eyes darted past Ducky and down the hall to where he guessed Jude's room was. He quickly tore his gaze away and focused on the doctor. He wasn't trying to be rude, but he was anxious to see his friend. He watched as Gibbs and Ducky seemed to share a silent conversation before Gibbs gave a slight nod and they led him over to a row of chairs. Tim felt his stomach sink. He knew Jude was in a bad way, but he had a feeling it was worse than even he had imagined. Tim tried to put on a brave face. Ducky sat next to him and Gibbs on the other side.

"Timothy, I just wanted to warn you, so you know what to expect. Your friend Jude was beaten very severely," Ducky said sympathetically. "Because of that, there is quite a bit of swelling and discoloration of his face. He is also on a ventilator that helps him breathe. In addition, at some point he hit his head and has a pretty severe laceration, and so the doctors had to shave part of his head and put in a row of stitches."

Tim could feel his eyes widen at the list of injuries. Ducky painted a grim picture until he almost didn't want to see, but he was determined to be there for his friend. "Will they allow us to visit with him?" Tim was proud that his voice only quivered a little bit.

Ducky patted his hand in sympathy and said, "Yes. As he is in intensive care, they will allow you to visit for an hour at a time. Once Jude wakes up, they will allow normal visiting hours, but until then, your time will be restricted."

Tim nodded solemnly. Standing up, they went down the hall to the last door marked "rm. 112" with the name Carrington written above it. Tim hesitated briefly in the doorway before he forced himself forward.

Surrounding the hospital bed stood multiple machines making various noises that seemed overly loud in the otherwise silent room. Tim felt tears well up as he took in Jude's appearance. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done to not let them fall, as he walked towards the lone occupant in the room. Standing next to the bed, Tim took in a deep shaky breath. He would have had a hard time recognizing his friend if he hadn't been told who he was. Jude's face was swollen and the skin stretched tight, colored in motley hues of purple and black. Needing to find some way to comfort his friend, Tim reached out with a shaking hand, but he was afraid to touch him, so he settled on tucking one lock of black hair that had fallen across Jude's forehead behind his ear. Tim could barely look at the other side where the black stitches ran in stark contrast across his friend's pale, shaved head. Jude looked so small. Tim was used to him towering over him. Gibbs laid a supportive hand on his shoulder and Tim focused on that in order to center himself.

Jude had the room to himself which, to Tim, seemed to speak of the seriousness of his friend's condition. There were two chairs up against the wall. Gibbs grabbed both and placed them on each side of the bed. Tim murmured a thank you before sitting in the one closest to Jude.

Gibbs phone chirped. Looking down at the screen, he scowled in annoyance and said, "I have to take this. But I'll be right outside. Okay?"

"Okay," Tim said distractedly, acknowledging his father but finding he couldn't take his eyes off Jude's still form. He heard Gibbs move away and close the door quietly behind him. Ducky took the seat on the other side of the bed. Tim anxiously picked at the worn fabric on the knee of his jeans. He had been so focused on getting here that he hadn't thought about what would happen next, and now he wasn't sure what to do. The only sounds in the room were the ventilator pump's wheezing noises, and the heart monitor's steady beeps.

Finally, Tim, asked, his voice low but hopeful, "Do you think he would hear me if I talked to him? Maybe that would help wake him up?"

Ducky smiled kindly at him. "Oh yes, there are many who believe that those who are comatose are able to hear what goes on around them. It has been reported that those who woke up were able to repeat back what had been said. At the very least, they were aware of their loved ones' presence and took comfort in that fact. Some even tried to follow the sound of their voice back into consciousness."

That gave Tim hope. Although he was embarrassed to talk to Jude in front of Ducky, Tim would do anything to have his friend back, so he cleared his throat, scooted forward to the edge of his chair, and said, "Hey Jude it's me Tim _. It's only two weeks,_ you said, and that I shouldn't worry. It's only been a couple of days and look at you …"

Tim's voice broke and he stopped, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm to control himself, or he was going to completely break down. Finally, he got himself together so that his voice only trembled a little. "I heard that you had some trouble. But don't worry, Ducky says you should wake up soon." Tim looked at Ducky for confirmation, and was relieved that he got a nod. Tim felt the knot in his chest uncoil just a little bit at that. He continued, "Ducky is short for Dr. Donald Mallard. He's a doctor…well, a medical examiner, but he knows a lot."

Turning towards Ducky, Tim said, "Ducky, this is Jude."

Ducky smiled and said, "Hello Jude, it is nice to meet you. When you wake up, we will have a proper introduction. Until then, I hope you don't mind if I stop by and keep you company when Tim can't be here."

Tim smiled in relief at Ducky's words. He knew he couldn't be here all day, so it settled him somewhat that Ducky would look after his friend. He had been worried that Jude would be alone most of the time. "Thank you, Ducky," Tim said softly.

Ducky nodded and Tim pulled his chair a little bit closer. He shifted a bit in his seat and opened his mouth to say … something, but nothing came to him, so he shut it again.

Ducky cleared his throat and then said, "If you will excuse me, Timothy. I want to speak to the doctor before the shift change."

Tim smiled his thanks. He knew Ducky was giving him space, and he appreciated it. Now that it was just him and Jude, Tim finally remembered something that they had talked about, and with an embarrassed glance at the door, he said, "Remember when I told you about the story I was writing? Well, I think I finally figured out how Agent Tibbs was going to catch the mole that had infiltrated the agency. I think you are right about who it should be …

 **~NCIS~**

Liam hunched his shoulders and led the way across the full parking lot. Uncle Sal's Car Repair Shop was situated between a skate board park and a Costco in midtown Pittsburgh; and so they were forced to weave their way between moms yelling at small children and teenagers sailing past on skateboards. They had just stepped up on the sidewalk when Liam felt a hand grab his upper arm and jerk him to the side.

His back hitting the alley wall forced a pained grunt past his lips. Liam blinked up at the 250lb muscle that was O'Shaughnessy. The strong man pushed his meaty fists against Liam's chest in a move that was meant to inflict pain and pressure. He gasped for breath.

O'Shaughnessy got into the smaller man's face. "It's been over three weeks, Liam. Mr. Shea is getting impatient. He thinks you're just stalling to spare your own life, and I am starting to agree with him."

"No, no, no ... I swear, this guy Sal is in the know. If Cathy is to be found, he will know," Liam gasped out. His lungs were unable to take in more air thanks to the pressure the heavy man was exhorting on his chest.

"He better! Otherwise, we're going to take a long drive after this. Understood?"

Liam was practically soiling himself. He honestly didn't think Sal would know anything; Cathy wasn't stupid enough to meet up with any of their mutual friends. But on the other hand, Cathy always had a soft spot for the old man who reminded her of her grandfather, so there was a slim chance. After Sal, Liam wasn't sure where else to look. He _was_ stalling, but he wasn't going to tell O'Shaughnessy that.

"Yes, I understand," Liam huffed out with what little bit of air was left in his lungs as O'Shaughnessy leaned against him a little bit harder, holding his gaze for a long moment to make his point. Then he let up, looked at him in disgust before grabbing his arm once again, and pushed him back out of the alleyway just as a clap of thunder rolled through the air. The sky was a dark gray; the clouds were heavy with rain that had yet to fall.

 **~NCIS~**

Sal looked up as the bell over the door rang signaled a new customer. Spotting a familiar face caused the man to turn off the miniature TV he was watching and heave his hefty girth off his stool. Sal was going on seventy years old, and what little hair was left on his head was covered by his ever present Philadelphia Phillies ball cap. It had been a slow morning, and his sons who actually ran the garage nowadays had been in and out of the parts section but hadn't needed his help at all. So he had been watching his soaps on the small black and white television he kept on the counter.

"Liam," Sal bellowed out in enthusiasm. He hadn't seen the other man in over a year. He didn't care what his sons said about Liam and Cathy being trouble they were fun. Sure you had to keep an eye on your valuables, but they were always good for a few interesting stories about their travels.

Liam sent him a half-smile that was nowhere near as charming as it usually was. "Sal, how's it been?" he asked as he approached the counter.

"Oh, can't complain. Rolly and his wife had another grandkid, cutest thing you ever saw. Named him Salvador, after yours truly. My other kid Silas got married to this nice church girl Elizabeth. She keeps him on the straight and narrow, which is just what he needs, if you ask me ..." Sal trailed off when he noticed the hulking behemoth that stood just behind and a bit too close to Liam as he leaned against the counter. The man had to be over six foot. He was massive and his menacing scowl put Sal on edge.

He leaned in closely and lowered his voice. "Who's your shadow?"

Liam laughed nervously. "He's a friend." At Sal's skeptical look, he rushed on, not wanting the older man to continue his spiel. Sal was a great guy, but he could talk your ear off if given half a chance. "Have you heard from Cathy lately?"

Taking his ball cap partially off and giving his head a scratch, Sal said, "Actually funny you should mention her. She was in here just the other day…"

"Seriously!" Liam shouted incredulously, and for the first time since entering Sal's shop, there was real animation to his voice. The vehemence of his exclamation made Sal lean away from the counter.

"How long ago?"

"Ah … about a week and a half ago, she stopped in and seemed very distracted. She asked after the family and such before she seemed to get spooked and took off," Sal said hesitantly. He didn't like the odd vibe coming off the two men.

"Is that all?" Liam seemed disappointed. He glanced behind him at the behemoth who was practically breathing down his neck. "Please Sal. Did she say anything else about where she was going next? Or was there anything you saw that might help me locate her? I really need to find her. It's important."

"Well, she was pretty skittish. The whole time she was here, she was shaking like a leaf," Sal leaned forward a bit and in a loud stage whisper said, "Between you and me, I think she was going through withdrawals. She seemed to be looking to score because she asked about your old pal Vicky, and I had to tell her she OD'd about a month ago. She got really upset and left. No word on where she was going next."

Liam just nodded. His disappoint was written all over his face as he gave Sal a wan smile. "Okay, Sal. Thank you."

The hulk laid a paw on Liam's shoulder in what must have been a painful grip if the expression Liam's face was anything to go by. "Time to go," the man said flatly, and started dragging him away.

Liam seemed genuinely terrified; Sal had a feeling this wasn't going to end well for his friend. Sal grappled with his shaky memory and tried to find something to help the man.

 _The Letter._

They were almost to the door, when Sal shouted out, "Wait! There was a letter."

Liam jerked away from the large man and ran back to the counter, "What do you mean?"

"About a month ago, a letter arrived addressed to Cathy. I thought it was odd and just set it aside and forgot about it. When Cathy showed up out of the blue, I remembered it and gave it to her. You should've seen the look on her face. I thought she was going to pass out. She opened it up and threw the envelope away in the trash can. Whatever the letter said it upset her and then she left. I think she was crying."

Liam looked around wide eyed before pointing at the overflowing trash can near the register, "This one? Have you emptied it since then?"

Sal scratched his head again and said unsure, "I don't think so? But I'm not here every day anymore, thanks to my arthritis."

Before he'd even finished Liam was digging through the small trash can and pushing aside receipts and old candy wrappers before he uttered an excited shout. "I've got it!"

"Thank you Sal!" Liam shouted as he walked out. Sal waved and opened his mouth to say _you're welcome_ and _goodbye_ but the man was already gone. Sal just shook his head, sat back down on his stool, and turned his tiny TV back on.

 **~NCIS~**

Liam shook off O'Shaughnessy's grip as soon as they were outside. He smoothed out the envelope and read the return address. A relived smile spread across his face, when he saw the name at the top.

 _Timothy McGee_

"Well?" O'Shaughnessy ground out. He was standing next to Liam and bumped him to get his attention. "What has you so happy? It better be good or that drive is still on."

Liam gulped noisily and waved the envelope at the hit man. "This is a letter from Cathy's son. If anyone knows where she is, it will be the kid. She loves the little brat. I know Cathy. She won't be able to resist contacting him."

O'Shaughnessy grabbed the envelope and squinted at the address. Seeing it wasn't too far only in D.C., he said, "Fine," before grabbing Liam by the shirt and pulling him close to his face. "This is going to be your last chance. Understand?"

Liam nodded and smiled confidently. O'Shaughnessy looked doubtful but let him go, pushing him towards the car, following close behind. The smile on Liam's face dimmed a bit. He wasn't actually sure if Cathy would try to contact Tim or not. There was a time when he would have staked his life on it but then she had sent the boy to his father. Now he wasn't sure. From the look on his shadow's face, Liam knew this was his absolute last chance, so he was willing to roll the dice. Revving up the engine and putting the car in drive, Liam frowned through the windshield as he pulled out into traffic. Just the thought of that brat put a scowl on his face. There was no love lost between them. The snot had been nothing but trouble, and considering it was Liam's life on the line, he was going to find out what knew Tim knew no matter what it took. They hopped on the expressway out of town and were soon headed towards Washington D.C.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Here's another chapter! I am totally loving all of the reviews. They are one of the highlights of my day! Warnings for this chapter: panic attacks, and discussions of violence.

* * *

 **~NCIS~**

 _Thursday_

The hospital parking lot was full, so they carefully wove their way through the parked cars until they reached the truck. Gibbs held open the truck door for Tim who hopped inside and put on his seatbelt. Closing the door, Gibbs couldn't help but notice that Tim wearily leaned his head against the back of his seat. Getting into the driver's side, Gibbs switched on the headlights, as night had fallen while they had been inside, before he started the engine. It had been three days since Jude had been in the hospitalized, and Tim had faithfully been back every day for the hour he was allowed by the staff to visit. Even though it had only been a few days, Gibbs could see it was starting to wear on Tim that his friend had not woken up.

The doctors were not overly concerned as of yet, but Gibbs knew the longer Jude was in a coma, the lower the chances were that he would wake up.

"Hey," Gibbs said, waiting until Tim turned towards him before he continued, "What do you say, we give your grandfather a break tonight and pick up dinner on the way back?"

Tim looked over and gave him a small smile and said, "Sure."

Gibbs could tell Tim was trying to make him feel better because the smile didn't reach his eyes. As they drove down darkened streets lit up by street lamps and sparkling Christmas lights, they were each lost in their own thoughts. Gibbs pulled up to the diner that he frequented. He was about to get out when the lot across the street caught his eye.

Usually, it was empty, with only the occasional mound of trash that someone had illegally dumped there, but now it had been transformed. There were twinkling lights strung from the buildings on either side, a picket fence lining the front, and an arch way decorated in pine wreaths. There were large, gaudy, sparkling candy canes on either side of the entrance and a sign overhead that lit up, declaring that _Santa's Winter Wonderland_ was open for business. It was a Christmas tree lot, and it hit Gibbs like a lead weight to his chest. Christmas was four days away, and he hadn't even thought of getting a Christmas tree. It was his first Christmas with his son, and he felt like he was already messing it up big time.

The overhead light coming on in the cab jerked Gibbs out of his thoughts, and he saw that Tim had opened his door and was looking back at him quizzically.

Gibbs made a quick decision. "How 'bout we get a Christmas tree?"

Seeing Tim's face light up eased the weight off his chest a bit, and hearing his eager, "Can we?" brought a smile to his face as he answered, "Let's go."

Walking across the street, Gibbs kept an eye out for any errant cars. He guided Tim through the archway and was surprised by how many trees were left considering how close it was to Christmas.

"So do you prefer a noble fir or a Douglas fir?" Gibbs asked, pointing out the different trees.

"I don't know. I've never had a Christmas tree," Tim said, his eyes wide as he took in the sight before him.

"Never?" Gibbs watched as Tim reached out and grasped one of the branches of the noble tree that they were standing before, as though testing to see if it was real.

Tim shrugged one shoulder as he ran one hand over the needles of the branch before dropping his arm. He hesitated and then said, "We moved around a lot and never had money. It always seemed worse around this time of the year. I asked a couple of times but … Liam would laugh at me because I asked for something so stupid. Also, I could tell Mom felt bad, so I stopped asking. I didn't want to make her life harder than it already was." Tim looked up briefly, meeting Gibbs eyes. His embarrassment was plain to see.

The longer Tim had spoken, the more the excitement had bled from his voice, and it had been replaced with a wistful sadness. But Gibbs was thankful that Tim, who was usually so close mouthed about his past with his mom, was starting to open up to him. Gibbs gave him a reassuring smile that he hoped conveyed that it was okay. He was relieved to see the embarrassed look on Tim's face fade away and a smile replace it. His son had missed out on so much; in that moment, he decided that he was going to try to give Tim better memories of Christmas. It would be the first of hopefully many new memories that they could make together as a family.

Gibbs gave Tim's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before guiding him towards the noble fir section. "I was thinking something between five foot and six foot. What do you think?"

Tim gave him a look of relief at the change of subject. Once again, his voice had an excited lilt to it. "Don't forget we need to leave room for the star on top."

Grinning down at his son and relieved to hear the enthusiasm return to Tim's voice, Gibbs said joyfully, "Good point. Five foot it is."

 **~NCIS~**

 _Saturday Morning_

Quickly running downstairs, Tim had to slide to a stop to admire the sight before him. The living room was a glow with twinkling lights. The Christmas tree they had purchased two nights ago was fully decorated in the corner by the front windows. There were three red and green stockings on the fireplace; all three were the same, only the names at the top were different. _Jethro, Jackson, and Tim_. His smile widened at the sight. He had never really had a real Christmas that he could remember. He may have gotten an odd present here or there, but never consistently. Tim had certainly never had had a home that could be decorated. Now he did. The word home stopped Tim's thoughts in their tracks. _Home._ That's what he felt for the first time in a long time, when he looked at the living room. Because Gibbs and his grandfather had made an effort to make him feel welcome and to give him all he had been missing out on. He swallowed thickly as the emotion welled up in his throat. He was starting to think that maybe they could be a family.

He stood there admiring the room until his grandfather called to him from the kitchen. Jackson was just hanging up the kitchen phone when Tim stepped across the threshold. He saw that Jackson had made him a breakfast of scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and toast. Tim said thank you and then tucked into the food.

Jackson sat opposite of him with a cup of coffee in his hands. Gibbs was already gone. He had told Tim the previous night that he had some paperwork to finish, then Gibbs' team had the week off.

Jackson smiled and said, "That was Ducky on the phone. He is at the hospital with Jude." Tim sat up straighter and felt hope blossom inside him before Jackson held up a hand to hold off Tim's comment and then continued on regretfully. "He hasn't woken up yet. Ducky thought it would be better if we hold off our visit till this afternoon as the doctors want to run some tests this morning."

"Oh, okay," Tim said disappointment clear in his voice. He had been so sure that Jude would have woken up by now. He had visited him in the hospital every day. Sometimes, he would read to him out of his latest book or just talk quietly to him. It had been awkward at first, but then he just imagined it was the two of them talking outside of library, and it became easier.

Jackson reached over and gave his hand a comforting pat before he continued, "So I thought we could go to the local street fair. There will be lots of booths with crafts, antiques, used books, and we could do some last minute Christmas shopping."

Tim perked up a bit at Jackson's description. A street fair sounded like fun, plus he wanted to get something for Gibbs. He already had his grandfather's gift. He had made it under Gibbs' tutelage during one of the evenings they had spent working on projects in the basement. It was a small wooden truck that was a replica of his grandfather's beloved yellow truck.

Tim nodded his agreement and finished what was left of his breakfast. After grabbing their coats, they were soon headed out the door. Hopping into the truck, Tim peppered Jackson with more questions about the fair as he buckled his seatbelt. The excitement of their trip started to take hold of him. Soon they were discussing about the various people on the team they still needed to buy for. Neither noticed the late model green GTO pulling out behind them and start following them at a sedate pace down the street.

 **~NCIS~**

Walking next to his grandfather, Tim took in the sights. He couldn't believe how big the fair was; there was row after row of vendors that seemed to stretch to infinity. Some sold knick knacks, others sold crafts made by hand, or antiques, and there was even a row of food vendors. Tim could smell them as soon as they got out of the truck, and even though he had just had breakfast, the aroma was making his stomach rumble. Jackson had promised they would grab lunch after they were finished shopping.

When they turned the corner and Tim saw a whole row of used book sellers, he knew he had found paradise. Jackson even pointed him towards the sci-fi/fantasy section and listened patiently as Tim weighed the pros and cons of the different books he found.

"Why don't you get both of them?" Jackson asked.

Tim had two books in his hand: Mallory's _Le Morte d'Arthur_ , and a four volume set of Jules Verne stories. He really wanted both, but he also wasn't sure how much the gift for Gibbs would cost. Although he had some money thanks to his grandfather letting him do chores around the house, he didn't have all that much.

"I don't …" Tim started to say before Jackson laying a hand on his shoulder stopped his words.

Looking up, he met the kind eyes of his grandfather. Jackson said, "Every Christmas Eve, my wife and I would give Jethro one gift to open before bed. It was always a book that we thought he would enjoy. So why don't we do this: You pick one book you want to buy for yourself, and I'll buy the other and you act surprised come Sunday night."

Tim felt joy well up in him. Smiling up at Jackson, he blurted out, "Thanks Grandpa." As soon as the words left his mouth, Tim's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say grandpa, and he felt the weight of all of that word's meaning. But it felt right. He did think of Jackson as his grandfather. He wasn't sure how Jackson felt, though so he stared down at the books, afraid to look up and waited on Jackson's reaction.

When he felt his grandfather ruffle his hair, Tim took a chance and glanced up. Jackson was gazing down at him with love. His eyes had a glassy sheen to them. Tim felt peace steal over him. It was going to be okay.

A couple of minutes later, they were leaving the booth with their purchases when they heard a shout of _Jackson._ Turning around, Tim saw an older man around Jackson's age jogging towards them. Jackson seemed to know him from the VA, and after he had introduced Tim as his grandson (which made Tim stand just a bit taller), they started to talk about the latest meeting.

Tim soon lost track of the conversation as the booth a couple of stalls down caught his eye. The banner over the booth said _Antiques: Books, Glassware, Hand Tools, and Furniture_. It was the hand tools that made him want to head on over. They could totally have the perfect gift for his father. Looking up at his grandfather, he saw that Jackson was thoroughly engaged in his conversation with his friend. Tim didn't want to interrupt him, plus it was just a few feet away.

Walking up the booth, Tim spotted the hand tools and eagerly made his way towards them. There were a variety of tools. Some Tim recognized as earlier versions of ones that Gibbs owned, but others were a complete mystery. Picking up one, Tim looked at it quizzically before reading the tag attached. Apparently, it was antique hand planer tool, but it was the price that had Tim setting it down very gently. $99.99 was way too steep; he only had twenty dollars in his pocket. Most of the tools that caught Tim's eye seemed to be in the same category of too expensive, but off to the side he saw a basket full of miscellaneous chiseling tools. The sign over the display said ten dollars each.

Tim carefully dug through the basket until he found two of the more unique looking chisels. He didn't know if they would actually be of any use but they were at least interesting looking. After he paid for them, he turned and looked out towards the fairway, anxious to get back to Jackson. Thankfully, he could see his grandfather was still talking to his friend, but then Tim felt a prickling along the back of his neck. That had him turning to the right just in time to see a man in a grey hoodie duck his head, turn away from the front display, and walk away rapidly. Tim paused, and a wave of fear went through him. Tim could've sworn the man had been watching him.

Clutching his plastic bag tightly to his chest, Tim ran out of the stall trying to get a better look at the man but Tim couldn't see him. The crowd was heavy; he could see harried moms with strollers, older couples holding hands, and young teens bundled against the cold with their backpacks slung over their shoulders. But the man in the grey hoodie was nowhere to be seen. Tim felt his chest tighten as adrenalin rushed through him so fast his hands started to shake.

 _Liam_.

He hadn't seen the man's face, but something about his stance and the way he moved reminded Tim of his mom's boyfriend. It couldn't be, it wasn't possible. His mom and Liam had to be a long ways away. In all of their travels they had never visited D.C. Tim was about to plunge in the crowd and try to find the man when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Jumping in fright Tim shouted out a loud "No", picturing Liam's face leering over him. Jerking violently away from the hand, Tim whirled around, the fear and outright terror telling him to run away before Liam hurt him again.

Jackson held his hands up in a conciliating gesture, his face showed nothing but concern which seemed to deepen into worry when he took in Tim's reaction. Seeing who it was, Tim tried to plaster a reassuring smile on his face, but he soon gave up the effort. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and his breath was coming too fast as the crowd of people seemed to swell as they pushed past them. He felt trapped and exposed at the same time. He knew he was starting to hyperventilate, but he couldn't stop; it was too overwhelming.

Tim could see Jackson's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what he was saying, only a loud buzzing sound. He saw his grandfather slowly reach for him and although Tim's first reaction was to shrink away, he fought against it. He allowed Jackson to place an arm around his shoulders and lead him away. Tim buried his face in Jackson's side and tried to block out everything. He focused on placing one foot in front of the other and getting his breathing and heart rate under control.

Tim was vaguely aware of Jackson guiding him to the truck, opening the door, and ushering him inside. Once the door was shut, Tim leaned against the cool window and just tried to ride it out. He heard his grandfather get in and put the key into the ignition, but he didn't start it up. Tim finally managed to drag in a breath and said in a quivering voice, "I'm sorry." As the panic receded, he felt the familiar humiliation and shame roll through him. He was afraid to look at his grandfather.

"Tim," said Jackson in a gentle tone.

Staring out the passenger side window for a moment longer, Tim steeled himself to face rejection, remembered his mother's and Liam's cutting words anytime his anxiety and panic had got the better of him. Finally looking over at his grandfather, he was surprised to see nothing but love and acceptance.

"Are you okay?" Jackson asked his voice full of worry.

Tim nodded his head, but he could tell Jackson needed more than that from him. "I sometimes get panic attacks. I have for as long as I can remember." He paused and sucked in a deep breath again before repeating, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault; that is not something you can help," Jackson reassured him.

Tim shrugged. He was comforted by Jackson's words, but he wasn't ready to forgive himself for losing control like that.

Jackson looked at him in sympathy and said, "Tim …" He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.

Looking down and seeing Gibbs' name on the screen, Jackson gave Tim a frustrated but apologetic look before he answered.

Tim was actually glad they were interrupted. He didn't want to have to explain that he got worked up over nothing, just an apparition of Liam. The more he thought about it the more Tim knew he must have been mistaken, that it had been a figment of his overactive, paranoid imagination.

Tim clued back into Jackson and Gibbs conversation when Jackson looked over at him and with a surprised voice said, "He's awake?"

That got Tim's full attention; everything else was pushed out of his mind. Jude had woken up.

 **~NCIS~**

Tim's foot was tapping impatiently, watching the numbers light up one by one as the elevator slowly climbed. He couldn't believe Jude was finally awake. Apparently, his friend had woken up a couple of hours ago and already seen his doctors. They were pleasantly surprised at how well the teen was doing. Tim had been entertaining some doubts over the last few days that maybe Jude would never wake up, but now that he had Tim couldn't stop smiling.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and Tim slid through the doors before they finished opening. Then pausing, he looked back not wanting to be rude and leave his grandfather behind. Jackson motioned for him to go ahead; Tim gave him a grateful wave and speed walked down the hall. Dodging nurses and other patients, he went as fast as he dared.

Outside Jude's room, he saw Ducky talking with a doctor before shaking his hand.

Slightly out of breath, Tim joined him. He immediately asked, "Is he doing okay?"

He was worried that something else was wrong, but when Ducky smiled broadly, he felt his fears settle.

"Dr. Davis was just letting me know about Jude's latest tests." Ducky explained before holding up his hands to forestall any of Tim's questions, "He is doing very well, although he is tired and has some pain, but they are managing that through medication. They do not believe there will be any permanent damage."

Tim was relieved but he really needed to see Jude for himself, "Can I see him?"

"Of course, but he just woke up a couple of hours ago, so he may drift off in the middle of conversations. Don't let that alarm you. Also try to keep Mr. Carrington calm. Stress isn't good for him right now," Ducky said. "I need to discuss a few more details with Dr. Davis. Why don't you go in and see your friend?"

Nodding his head, Tim opened the door and went in. Jude's bed was raised up, but he had his eyes shut, so Tim closed the door as quietly as he could and tiptoed to stand by his friend's bedside.

For a few minutes, it was quiet until. "You know it's creepy to watch someone sleep."

Tim jumped but then smiled as Jude opened his eyes. If his friend could joke around, then he had to be okay. Taking in his friend's damaged condition, Tim swallowed roughly against the tightness in his throat. The bruises were darker and even more noticeable today. In a strained voice, he said, "Hey."

"Hey," Jude returned offering him a half smile that turned into a grimace as he shifted a bit. "How are you doing?"

Tim shook his head in amazement. "That's what I should be asking you. You were the one who was hurt."

"What do you mean? This," Jude joked, gesturing towards his face, "this is nothing. I've had worse."

The smile left Tim's face. "Please don't say that. I was really scared for you."

Jude nodded a bit more seriously but then continued in a boasting tone of voice, "You don't have to worry about me, kid. I always bounce back."

There was a pleading look in Jude's blue eyes like he needed Tim to agree, so Tim plastered a confident grin on his face and said, "I know." Then wanting to change the subject because Jude was looking way too serious and Tim wasn't supposed to stress his friend, Tim said, "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up."

"That's okay. Dr. Mallard was here. He's nice. He explained everything that the doctors were doing and then stuck around and told me all that had happened since ..." Jude stopped to look up at the ceiling. He blinked back tears threatening to fall before he huffed out a breath, "Also, apparently he has a million stories about just about everything."

Tim dragged a chair towards the bed and sat as close as he could to Jude, "Yeah Ducky could talk your ear off, but at least they're interesting stories. He's one of the good guys. He reminds me of Alfred from batman."

Jude wheezed out a laugh. "Oh man, you're right. I thought he seemed familiar"

Seeing Jude laugh despite the bruises marring his face made Tim smile and his eyes start to tear up. Staring down at the scoff marks on the floor, Tim felt a sense of relief crash over him as he realized all at once that Jude would be okay.

Tim heard Jude say, "Hey…" Not wanting Jude to see him so close to breaking down, Tim didn't look up and just shook his head.

"Kid," Jude tried again, his own voice wavering, and this time, he moved his hand closer to the edge of the bed and reached out towards Tim.

It was the way Jude said his nickname that got Tim to look up and meet his eyes. Seeing the understanding and the fear of what almost had happened in his friend's eyes had Tim reaching out and grasping Jude's hand.

Jude opened his mouth once then closed it. He tried to regain his composure as a tear slid down his face before he said, "I thought he was going to kill me. He just kept hitting me over and over …" Jude stopped abruptly, a sob tearing through him.

Seeing Jude's face crumble, his eyes closed, and his body start to shake as he tugged on Tim's hand had Tim get up and sit on the edge of the bed. Gently wrapping one arm around Jude as the older boy laid his head on his shoulder, Tim just held him as he cried, and refused to let his own tears fall.

 **~NCIS~**

Gibbs stepped off the elevator and walked briskly down the hall. There was almost a spring to his step. He'd finished all his paperwork, and baring any national emergencies, he was off till after New Year's. He had traded in a lot of owed favors but he had spent so little time with Tim since he had returned to work. Gibbs knew he was having a hard time balancing his work life with his new family life; it was something he was going to have to fix. But for now, he was focused on Christmas.

He had dropped by Abby's lab earlier in the day and picked up Tim's Christmas present. He had talked to Abby a couple of weeks ago about what type of computer would be best for Tim for his school work and such. She had spat out a list of must haves for students, and told him about the pros and cons of each system she named. He was all too soon over his head; his bewilderment must of shown on his face because Abby said she would look into it further and let him know which would be best. Last night, she had called, and this afternoon, he had picked up a laptop which Abby had already installed with the latest software. She assured him that she would give Tim a tutorial on Christmas so that he would be able to use it right away.

He had Christmas all planned out, and as an added bonus, Jude was awake. That brought a smile to Gibbs' face; he knew that Tim had to be over the moon. The way Tim talked about Jude, he knew the older teen was not only Tim's first friend, but he was also very important to him. Spying Ducky and his father hanging out outside of Jude's room, Gibbs' walked up to them and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

Pausing in his conversation, Jackson looked over his shoulder and through the small window in the door before he said, "We are giving Tim some time with Jude. I have a feeling they need to talk about the last few days."

Ducky nodded then added, "Plus I needed to talk to you and Jackson alone. Mrs. Breckenridge from Child Protective services came by today. She looked in on Jude but left when the boy became upset. The doctor still wants to keep his stress level to a minimum. She spoke to me about needing to find him a placement in the system."

Gibbs grimaced. He had spoken to Mrs. Breckenridge briefly over the phone a few days ago and had asked her to wait until he could talk to Jude in order to ease him into the idea of a foster home. Tim had been pretty adamant that Jude had a deep fear of the homes in the system. She had agreed, but apparently, she had just been shining Gibbs on. "I'll talk to her again and see if this time, I can get her to actually listen to me and agree to let me talk to Jude about his future. How long until he is well enough to leave the hospital?"

Ducky seemed to think about it for a moment. "I was talking to his physician a few moments ago, and we both think it will be a couple of weeks. His injuries need time to heal."

"That gives us a bit of a cushion. I'll talk to Jude after Christmas, give him a few days to find his feet again before he has to face the foster system," Gibbs said. He felt bad for the young man.

Ducky had a thoughtful expression on his face, but he kept silent and only give Gibbs a preoccupied nod.

Jackson glanced behind him again, checking on his grandson, before he turned towards Gibbs. "Something happened at the street fair that has me worried about Tim."

The tone in his father's voice grabbed Gibbs' attention. Jackson sound truly worried, "What happened?"

"I was talking to a friend of mine, and Tim had wandered off to look at a booth," Jackson rushed, his voice conciliatory. "I could see him the whole time. But when I walked up to him and put my hand on his shoulder, he jumped and screamed. Then he just got real pale. I was trying to speak to him to find out what was wrong but it was like he couldn't hear me. He seemed almost lost. I gathered him to me, walked him out to the parking lot, and got him into the truck. Once there, he seemed to calm down."

Jackson ran a hand over his head his worry coloring his voice. "Tim called it a panic attack. He said he's had them before. I was going to ask more about it but then Ducky called about Jude."

Gibbs ran one hand over his eyes as his concern was growing. "Damn it." He should have asked Tim about them after his son had had one right in front of him.

Concerned, Ducky asked, "Do they happen often?"

Gibbs' didn't like not having a definitive answer to such an important question. "I've seen him have one, but he brushed it off. He also mentioned that Jude had helped him through one." He mind was racing, trying to figure out how to fix this for Tim. "I'll talk to him about it and see if I can figure out what's going on."

"Jethro, Tim may need more help than what you can give him. Considering what we know about his background, his panic attacks probably extend from trauma he faced at the hands of his mother and her boyfriend. You should probably think about having him see a counselor," Ducky said gently.

Grimacing at the mention of a shrink, Gibbs made himself stop his instinctive rejection of the idea of therapy and consider his friend's advice. Although he never saw the need for treatment himself, this was Tim's mental health they were talking about, and he would do anything for him. Finally, he said with a sigh, "Can you recommend anyone?"

Ducky looked surprised at his rapid capitulation. "I will make some calls and let you know after Christmas, as most offices are closed for the holidays. For now, I would recommend a father and son talk and see if you can at least let Tim know you are willing to listen if he is willing to talk."

Gibbs' nodded. His carefree mood had vanished. Tim always presented such a strong front to the world that sometimes even Gibbs forgot about all he had been through in his young life. He would have to try harder.

He was about to pick Ducky's brain on panic attacks when the hospital door opened and Tim peeked his head out. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, but he had a smile on his face and he said, "You guys want to meet Jude?"

 **~NCIS~**

Tim trudged tiredly through the front door, took off his jacket, and hung it on the hall tree. His dad and grandfather were right behind him. They had left the hospital shortly after he had introduced Jude to them. Jude's eyes had been drooping, so they had left with the promise that they would return the following day, which was Christmas Eve. Tim had Jude's gift of a stack of comics already wrapped. Although he was hoping to visit Jude on Christmas as well, he wanted to give him the gift tomorrow because he thought his friend would enjoy having something to read in the meantime. After the hospital, they had stopped at the diner and grabbed a quick dinner.

It had been a long day, both good and bad. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, Tim saw that it was approaching eight. Jackson walked into the kitchen and put his leftovers in the fridge before announcing he was tired and was making it an early night. Tim wished him a good night before sitting on the couch and picking up the remote for the television.

His father who had been fairly quiet all evening finally spoke up and said, "Wait before you turn the TV on. I was hoping we could talk."

Tim's heart sank at those words, and he wondered if his father had found out about the letter he had written to his mother or the lies he had told in order to mail it. He knew it was a long shot on whether or not she would even get it much less answer it, but he had hope … and he felt guilt because it didn't feel right to lie to the people who were giving him so much. Maybe it would be better if he just told the truth to his father; maybe Gibbs would help him find his mother.

Tim had just made up his mind to confess all when Gibbs spoke.

"Your grandfather told me about the street fair," Gibbs said, taking a seat on the coffee table across from Tim.

Looking down as shame rolled through him, Tim shifted nervously on the couch. In all the excitement with Jude waking up, he had forgotten about the embarrassment from this afternoon. As the silence lengthened, Tim finally decided to play it off as no big deal.

Looking up, he said casually, "It was nothing. I just thought I saw someone I knew and I panicked a bit."

Apparently his nonchalance wasn't convincing because he saw Gibbs' eyes narrow. His father's voice had an edge to it when he asked, "Who did you see? Was it your mother?"

Tim shrunk back a little at Gibbs' tone, a curl of fear made his stomach hurt. For a brief moment, Gibbs reminded him of Liam. Hearing the way Gibbs asked if it was his mother had Tim realizing he couldn't tell him about the letter. He would be furious with him. Anger scared him, and Tim didn't want to be scared of Gibbs, so he kept his mouth shut.

Gibbs' countenance immediately softened; his eyes filled with regret and then his voice turned gentle. "Tim I am not angry with you. I care about you, so I'm worried." He waited until Tim reluctantly nodded before he asked, "Who did you see?"

Taking in a deep breath, Tim reminded himself that his father was not Liam; he was a good person who was only trying to help. "I was looking for Christmas gifts when I thought I saw … Liam …" Tim stopped abruptly as he felt his hands start to shake, so he closed them into fists on his knees and willed himself to stop being so weak, so worthless. He continued in a firm voice. "But it wasn't him. I was mistaken."

Gibbs nodded and asked, "Are you sure?"

Feeling an irrational rush of anger surge through him at the question, Tim stood up abruptly. Unable to stay still, he walked away from the couch then turned around and faced his father. His hands now clenched at his sides, he loudly said, "Yes! I'm sure. It wasn't Liam." He was practically shouting now, but he couldn't stop, even when Gibbs stood up with concern written on his face. The love Tim could see in his father's gaze only made it worse. He didn't deserve his compassion or his kindness. Tim wasn't worth loving: he was stupid, a burden.

He felt tears prick at his eyes as he spat out the words that had been welling up in him since the night at the roadside motel. "It was just me being a stupid, worthless waste of space, a freak who is scared of his own shadow."

Tim pointed to his own chest. His voice rough and full of tears he refused to let fall. "My own mother chose a man who beats her over me. She dumped me on the side of the road …" A sob interrupted his words, Tim couldn't continue. Bringing his hand up, he covered his mouth to muffle the sound. With all of his might, he tried not to cry. He hated how weak it made him feel.

"Tim," Gibbs said softly as he walked over and placed one hand tentatively on Tim's shoulder, giving Tim the option to back away. Instead, Tim launched himself at Gibbs and wrapped his arms around his father for the first time.

"Why do you care about me?" he said in a low, watery voice.

Gibbs' arms tightened around him, and Tim felt him rest his head on the top of his own. Gruffly, he said, "I love you because you are so easy to love and you deserve love. I'm sorry that the people in your past couldn't see that, but that is not a reflection on you. That is on them."

Tim just burrowed deeper into his father's embrace, as his father's words echoed through his head. He finally allowed himself to cry for all he had lost and all he had found.

 **~NCIS~**

Cursing under his breath, Liam ducked around the corner before taking a chance and peeking his head out. He let out a shaky breath in relief when he saw Tim being led away by a man that Liam was assuming was the kid's grandfather. He hadn't meant for the brat to see him, but he had been looking for an opportunity to catch Tim away from the old man. Liam was pretty sure he could _persuade_ the waste of space to come with him. Turning towards the parking lot, he ran right into the man he had been hoping to ditch for the past couple of days. O'Shaughnessy. It was like bouncing off a brick wall.

Liam was grabbed by the back of the neck and dragged to the side parking lot. O'Shaughnessy growled, "We need to talk."

 _Shit._

He knew he was on thin ice with Shea. The panic and desperation that he had managed to squish down earlier coming back full force until he felt like he was choking on them.

O'Shaughnessy pushed him up against the car. "Forty-eight hours."

"Forty-eight hours?" Liam asked in a shaky voice.

"That's it, and then Shea will find her on his own."

Liam could feel the sweat break out across his forehead. "I just need to get the little brat alone, and I know I could convince him to tell me everything."

O'Shaughnessy didn't look convinced. He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Liam, but know this: When your forty-eight hours are up, it will be me who shoots you in the head and rolls your body into a shallow grave."

Then he smiled coldly but with a hint of malicious delight. "And you know what?"

Petrified, Liam could only shake his head.

Leaning in until Liam could feel his breath against his ear, O'Shaughnessy whispered, "I am looking forward to it."

With that cruel declaration, O'Shaughnessy stepped back and got into the driver's side, leaving Liam to swallow the bile that was lodged in his throat. With a shaking hand, he opened the passenger side door and got in.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Second to last chapter. We are almost there! Warning for this chapter: Violence against a child, minor character death. Thank you to everyone who have written me such lovely reviews. It is much appreciated!

* * *

 **~NCIS~**

 _Christmas_

Gibbs rapped on Ducky's door before turning the handle and pushing it open. He ushered Tim and Jackson in then closed the door behind the three of them. The smell of Christmas dinner was wafting from the kitchen. After they divested themselves of their coats, they placed the brightly wrapped packages they had brought under the Christmas tree. Ducky's gift of a bookcase was in the back of the truck with a very thick moving blanket over it to protect it from the damp cold air. Gibbs was waiting for Tony to arrive, and between the two of them, he figured they could bring it in and surprise their friend.

They were a bit early, and they were the first ones there. The three of them went on a search to find Ducky. He was eventually found in the kitchen, where he was running from pillar to post as he checked on the various pots and pans that were simmering on the stove and the bird he had cooking in the oven. Jackson placed their offering of a couple of pumpkin pies on the counter and already taking in the various half done culinary projects that needed finishing, he started rolling up his sleeves. Soon Ducky and Jackson were cutting up vegetables for salad while they playfully argued about sweet potatoes versus yams and pecans versus marshmallows to top them.

Gibbs and Tim were given the assignment of setting the table. Glancing over at Tim as he studiously placed the knives and forks on their correct sides of the plates, Gibbs couldn't help but smile. It felt like a wall that had been standing between the two of them had fallen. It had been two days since the evening that Gibbs had tried to talk to Tim about the street fair. When Tim had completely broken down in his arms, Gibbs had just held him as he cried; and tried to be the rock that his son needed him to be. Once Tim had cried himself out, Gibbs had been able to draw out the story of what had happened that afternoon. Not only that, but Tim had opened up about what had happened in the days that lead up to him being left behind as well. There had been such heartache and pain in his voice when he had talked about his mom abandoning him. Hearing what Cathy had put their son through for her own selfish wishes made Gibbs both heartbroken and angry. But it was nothing compared to the out and out rage he had felt when Tim had told him in a shame-filled whisper how it was Liam's wish to put him to "work" that had finally made Cathy send Tim to his father's house. How Cathy could stay with such a person Gibbs could not fathom.

Gibbs could hear the shame in Tim's voice when he told that part of the story. Gibbs made sure that Tim knew he bore no fault in Liam's plan or Cathy abandoning him. He also knew one talk would not be enough and that he would need to be available for Tim to talk to when he needed to. After that, any doubts he'd had about Tim seeing a counselor fell by the wayside; it made him realize that professional counseling would help Tim be able to process all that had happened to him. Although Tim had insisted that his sighting of Liam was a figment of his overwrought imagination, Gibbs still had Tony put out an APB on Liam to the local L.E.O.'s to be out on the lookout for the man just in case Tim wasn't imagining things. He wasn't taking any chances with his son's life.

 **~NCIS~**

They had just finished their assigned task when Abby's boisterous voice echoed through the hall, followed by Tony's and Jimmy's. Tim and Gibbs went in the living room to greet them. They were given a very enthusiastic hug by Abby, and Tim hurried over to help Tony with the armful of presents.

"Thank you, Tim," said Tony as they placed the gifts near the Christmas tree.

Tim ducked his head as Tony tried to good-naturedly ruffle his hair. Turning around, he spotted the gifts that Gibbs had brought in. The festively wrapped packages were brightly colored with bows and ribbons. It was the first time Tim had helped wrap Christmas gifts and it had been a lot of fun. Looking at the gifts, Tim became conscious of what was missing.

"No … no … no," Tim breathed out as he realized the gift bag that held his father's antique chisels was not among the festive boxes.

Coming over to stand next to him, Tony asked in concern, "What's wrong buddy?"

Looking around and seeing Gibbs still talking to Abby and Jimmy, he whispered to Tony, "I forgot Gibbs' gift at home. God, I am so stupid."

"Hey now, none of that," Tony scolded gently, slinging an arm around Tim's shoulders. "We can fix this."

Walking Tim over to the group by the front door just as Abby and Jimmy went into kitchen to say hello Tony said to Gibbs, "If it's okay with you, we need to make a quick run to your house. Tim forgot something."

Gibbs looked at them quizzically and Tim gave him a pleading smile. "I'll right. I can take him."

Tim had kept the present secret because he wanted to surprise his dad. If his dad took him it wouldn't be a surprise any longer.

He must've looked a bit panicked because Tony jumped in giving Gibbs a big grin. "No, that's okay, we'll go there and be back in about a half an hour."

Just then, Gibbs's name was called from the kitchen; looking behind him Gibbs relented. "Okay, be careful the ice is slippery out there."

Smiling in relief, Tim gave his father a brief hug before getting his coat back on and following Tony out the door.

Traffic was surprisingly light, but at this time of day, most people were probably already with family. "Thank you so much for taking me back, Tony," Tim said, glancing over at the agent.

Tony gave him a reassuring smile, "No problem, Tim. How's Jude doing?"

Tim quickly filled Tony in on his visit to Jude the previous day, how surprised the teen had been with his gift of a whole box full of Superman comics, and how Gibbs and him were going to see him this evening. Tim didn't want him to be alone for the entirety of Christmas day.

They made good time across town and Tony had barely pulled into the driveway before Tim was opening his door and shouting over his shoulder, "I'll be right back."

Running up the front stairs, Tim dug his house key out of his pocket but was a bit surprised when the handle turned. He didn't give it much thought as he shut the door behind him. Running up to his room, Tim flung open the door, one look around the room and he spied his father's gift on his desk. Grabbing it, he turned and ran full tilt down the hall then rapidly down the stairs. He was almost at the bottom when a figure rounded the base of the stairs. Startled, Tim skidded to a stop, causing him to fall backwards and hitting his back and head hard on the stairs.

 _Liam_.

His heart in his throat, Tim turned and tried to scramble back up the way he came, but Liam was on him too quickly. He felt Liam grab his hair and pull him back sharply. Tim cried out.

Liam yanked him off the stairs and pushed him roughly into the living room. Tim stumbled and fell to the floor. "Liam, please …" Tim started to stammer out only to be brutally cut off as Liam backhanded him.

Stunned into silence as pain exploded across his face, Tim tried to curl in on himself. Liam grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up until they were face to face. Liam was just as he remembered: skinny, pale, and his blue eyes were bloodshot, with dark shadows underneath. He looked desperate and dangerous.

He leaned in and his hands tightened painfully on Tim's arms. "Listen to me boy, I am going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer them fully and truthfully, and I will let you live. Understood?"

Tim was having a hard time thinking. His face hurt and there was blood dripping down his chin from his spilt lip. But he did not want to get hit again, so he nodded.

 **~NCIS~**

Tony tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time to Bobby Helms's version of _Jingle Bell Rock_ as he waited for Tim to get back. By the time the station had switched to _Santa Baby_ by Eartha Kitt, Tony was starting to wonder what was keeping Tim. Finally figuring the kid was having a hard time finding Gibbs' gift Tony decided to go help. Switching off the engine, Tony got out of the car and made his way up the walkway.

The door was partially open so Tony pushed it the rest of the way and yelled, "Hey, Tim, you need some help?" Tony closed the door behind him, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the living room.

Turning, Tony expected to find Tim in the process of frantically searching. Instead, to his shock, he saw a bruised and bloody Tim with a gun to his head. The man behind Tim was tall, skinny, with drawn features. One of his arms was around Tim's throat and the other held a gun against the kid's temple. Tony automatically drew his service weapon. "NCIS. Drop your weapon!"

The man standing behind Tim didn't even flinch. Instead, his grip tightened around Tim's neck which caused the teen to claw at the arm as it was threatening to cutting off his oxygen supply. "You drop your gun or the kid dies."

Tim's eyes were pleading with Tony to help him. Tony said calmly, "Listen, lower your weapon and we can talk…"

Hearing the floor creak behind him was the only warning Tony had that there was a second intruder. Turning, Tony only had time to see that it was a man in a ski mask before he was hit on the side of his head. Pain exploded and echoed through his skull as his whole body crumbled, hitting the floor hard. He heard Tim yelling his name. The sound seemed to be coming from a great distance.

Tony tried to lift his head to reassure Tim but the words were jumbled in his head. He managed to confusedly mumble, "Tim … okay." He tried to say more but couldn't get the words to form right. They kept slipping away the moment he tried to grasp them. His tongue felt paralyzed and his vision faded out.

 **~NCIS~**

Tim saw the man in the ski mask a second before he raised a gun and hit Agent DiNozzo with the butt end of it. Watching in horror as Tony fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Tim tried to move towards the agent, but Liam held him in an iron grip. When the stranger pointed the gun at Tony's head and cocked it, Tim started yelling, unsure of what he was saying; he only knew that he was begging for the older man's life. The man in the ski mask glanced over at him before picking up Tony's gun and putting it in the waistband of his pants.

"Shut up and stop sniveling!" Liam yelled in Tim's ear.

Tim immediately stopped speaking, but he couldn't control his breathing as he was on the verge of hyperventilating. Abruptly letting go with a sound of disgust, Liam shoved him hard enough that Tim fell to the floor next to Tony. Briefly looking over his shoulder at Liam who had started to pace, Tim inched forward. The other man had taken a step back from Tony but continued to hold the gun at his side as he kept an eye on both Liam and on Tim and Tony. Just by the way he was standing, Tim could tell the man was in a totally different league than Liam, and he wondered what his mom's boyfriend had gotten involved in.

Tim tentatively reached out to Tony and placed two fingers on the man's neck, a relieved sob escaped him when he felt a pulse. Tony opened his eyes and Tim heard him mumble something indiscernible. Tim could tell his eyes weren't tracking, so he wasn't sure Tony even knew what was going on. Scooting a bit closer, he tried to see if there was a head wound. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against the side of Tony's head where he had been struck, and there Tim felt something sticky. Withdrawing his hand, Tim saw that there was blood on his fingertips, and his worry increased exponentially. Placing one hand on Tony's shoulder, Tim tried to comfort the older man and ground himself at the same time so as to not panic, while he was praying Tony would be okay. Tim kept a vigilant eye on Liam. The man was a loose cannon at the best of times, but when he panicked, he was truly dangerous in his incompetence.

As Liam continued to pace and talk to himself, Tim tried to find something that would help them. He knew Tony had a cell phone, but he doubted he could retrieve it from the agent's pocket without it being noticed. As if the thought brought reality, Tony's phone started to ring. Tim couldn't help the hope that rose in him at the sound.

 **~NCIS~**

Avoiding the myriad of people bustling around the kitchen, Gibbs took the rolls out of the oven carefully. After placing the baking sheet on the stove, he accepted the basket that Ducky held out to him. He quickly transferred the hot rolls into the basket and covered them with a towel to keep them warm. Gibbs then placed the basket on the dining room table and couldn't help but smile as he took in the scene before him.

Ducky, Jackson, and Vance were in the kitchen prepping the rest of the dishes. They were chatting together amicably as they bustled about. Turning slightly as Abby rushed past him with scissors and construction paper in her hands, he saw her give the paper to Vance's children who were sitting around the coffee table in the living room. From where he was standing, he could see several artistic turkeys made of construction paper, glue, and copious amounts of glitter in various stages of completion, including a goth turkey and one in medical scrubs that Jimmy had made.

Ziva and Jackie were filling up glasses with water or sparkling apple juice in the dining room. From the looks of things they were almost ready to serve dinner. Withdrawing his phone from his pocket, Gibbs checked the time and wondered what was keeping Tony and Tim. Stepping out onto the front porch and shutting the door behind him, Gibbs flipped open his phone, thumbing through his directory and hit the entry for Tony.

Gibbs listened with a growing sense of dread as the phone continued to ring before it went to voice mail. Hanging up without leaving a message, Gibbs waited thirty seconds as he paced the front porch. Trying again, Gibbs felt the dread turn to fear as this time, the call went straight through to voice mail.

He then called his home phone. While listening to ring, he stepped back inside. Gibbs grabbed his jacket and signaled to Ziva to get her attention as the phone continued to ring. Gibbs hung up and pocketed his phone as Ziva saddled up beside him; he turned towards her and said curtly, "I need your car keys."

At Ziva's questioning look, he went on, "Tim and Tony should've been back by now. He's not answering, so I'm going to check it out."

He saw the mirth and relaxed look in Ziva's eyes disappear and in an instant she became Agent Ziva David.

Dropping the keys into his outstretched hand, she said, "I will go with you."

Jackson looked like he was going to want to come along, but Gibbs beat him to the punch "Stay here just in case they return. It could be nothing, but if there is trouble, Ziva and I would be better off just the two of us."

"And me," came a voice from behind the group.

Gibbs turned and saw Vance behind them, and he quickly nodded, heading towards the door. Once in the car, he slammed it into reverse and sped out of the driveway.

Ziva hung on as best she could in the passenger seat and Vance in the backseat braced himself while using his clout on the phone with dispatch to get the local L.E.O.s to send a car over. Racing towards his home, Gibbs prayed that he was being paranoid, that they were on their way back, and that Tony had accidentally put his phone on silent, but the feeling in his gut was telling him differently.

 **~NCIS~**

Liam stopped pacing and stared at Tony as the agent's phone continued to ring. The man above them just grunted in annoyance before bending over and roughly rolling Tony over to checking his pockets until he found the phone. He tossed it to Liam who actually managed to catch it. Liam looked at the screen and then he started cursing.

"It's the brat's dad," Liam spat out, "Damn it!" He dropped the phone, grinding it into the hard wood floor under his heel. Then he manically started pacing again.

What little hope the call had brought Tim died with the phone, not even the subsequent ringing of the house phone could raise them. Liam stopped pacing and gave the phone on the wall a hard stare as it continued to ring. Only when it stopped did he resume. That's when Tim spied Gibbs' gift bag. It had flown out of his hand when he had fallen against the steps, and now the contents were scattered across the bottom of the stairs. Two of the chisels were on the last step, but the third one was lying at the bottom near were Tim was sitting with Tony. If he could get a hold of it, at least he would have a weapon.

He was just about to reach out for it when he saw Liam striding towards him. Tim flinched away from him and stammered, "No, no, no …" but couldn't escape the hands that reached for him. As Liam pulled him off the floor Tim could feel Tony try to hold on to his shirt. Then he heard DiNozzo as he said in a weak voice, "Stop …"

When the man in the ski mask kicked Tony hard in the back for his trouble, it caused the agent to let go and cry out in pain.

Tim tried to wrench himself away from Liam, but the older man drew him in closer.

"Now as I was saying before I was interrupted by your friend …" Liam slammed Tim against the wall and screamed in his face: "Where is your mother?"

"My… mom?" Tim asked, his voice bewildered. He hadn't seen her since she had left him in the motel room. Liam was looking for her? When had they split up?

Liam looked at him in disgust, "You are so _stupid_ ," he ground out. His hands tightened on Tim's shirt. "Yes, your mother." Reached into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled up paper and waved it in his face.

Tim was confused at first but then he saw it was an envelope with his handwriting. "My letter."

"Yes, your letter. I know you wrote to her. I know Cathy saw the letter. She must have contacted you," Liam said angrily.

Tim sucked in a breath in shock. His mother had seen his letter …

"She … she didn't …" Tim sputtered out.

Liam smirked cruelly. "She never called you. Did she?" He let Tim go and took a step back. "Once she had the money, she split." He looked Tim up and down in disgust before spitting out, "I always knew you were worthless, but I never thought Cathy would wise up and see that for herself. Looks like she didn't love you, either. Looks like neither one of us meant a damn thing to her."

Liam's satisfied grin turned into a grimace as he turned away slowly His gaze fell on Tony who still lay dazed on the floor, and he stepped over him and kicked him hard in the ribs.

"Stop it!" Tim shouted as Liam drew back his leg to kick him again. Grabbing Liam's jacket, Tim yanked him backwards. Liam shook him off before he balled up his fist and punched Tim in the stomach.

Tim dropped to his knees. His eyes watered. He tried to catch his breath but was unable to; instead, he gagged and threw up bile on the hardwood floor as pain radiated through him.

"Liam." The man in the ski mask speaking for the first time caused everyone to look at him.

"Look, I know. I promise I have other places I can look for her," Liam stuttered out, abject terror written across his face, hands out in front of him in a pleading gesture.

Tim watched as the man shook his head almost in a regretful fashion.

"I have my orders," he stated flatly before raising his gun and firing.

Tim felt a wet spray of blood hit the side of his face as the echo of the gunshot rung in his ears. He looked on in shock as Liam's body hit the ground behind him.

Tim scrambled away from the grotesque sight. His breath was coming in gasps. Panicking, he reached out to Tony who grabbed him weakly. "Tim … run." There was terror and concern in Tony's eyes as he gazed up at Tim.

Tim shook his head as he grasped Tony's hand. "I won't leave you." He gave the older man a sad smile. Tony's hand tightened in his.

The man in the ski mask stepped over Tony and walked over to the man he had just shot. As the red stain on Liam's chest grew larger, Tim could see he was struggling for breath. Then the man pointed his gun once again and shot Liam point blank in the head.

Tim's grip on Tony's hand tightened as he turned away. Spying one of the chisels and grabbing it, he put it behind his back. It was a million to one shot, but he needed to try. He didn't want Tony to die because of him, and honestly, he didn't want to die either.

The man turned back towards them. Tim met his gaze, and he saw there was no emotion in his brown eyes. In that moment, Tim knew he was planning on killing them, and he also knew the man wouldn't lose a minute of sleep over it. It was just a job for him.

Tim knew his father would be coming soon; that missed phone call would alert him to the fact that something was wrong. After learning what happened to Kelly and Shannon, Tim couldn't let his father come home and find him and Tony dead. It would kill him.

As the man walked towards him, Tim let go of Tony's hand. He kept his right hand behind his back, the chisel held in a tight grip. Meeting Tony's gaze briefly, he saw him nod slightly, and he knew the older man would help if he could.

Tim allowed all the fear and terror that was coursing through him to show on his face. He tried to make himself look as small and helpless as he could.

As the man towered over Tim, who was kneeling on the floor, Tim grasped the man's jacket in a desperate hold and said in a pleading voice, "Please, don't hurt us …" He stopped, letting a sob escape.

The brown eyes remained expressionless and the man said coldly, "It's not personal." Raising his gun, he placed the muzzle against Tim's forehead.

Tim could feel the coldness of the barrel against his skin; he took in a shuddering breath as the fear threatened to choke him.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as Tim saw the man's hand tighten on the gun. Tony heaved up from the floor with a pained grunt and grabbed at the man's leg. The gun man staggered, swinging the gun from Tim to Tony.

Surging up, Tim brought the chisel around. Using his upwards momentum, he plunged it into the man's lower abdomen with a shout. Tim felt the chisel sink in and blood ran down the handle over his hand.

The man swung back around with a pained scream. He hit Tim's already bruised cheek hard with the gun before he staggered back, one hand clutching the tool sticking out of his stomach. Tim fell back onto the floor next to Tony. He could see the hit man's eyes behind the mask were wide with pain and shock. As the man hit the back wall, he slowly pulled the chisel out of his stomach with a shout. He dropped the tool and it clattered against the floor. Blood poured from the wound as he sagged against the wall.

When he looked up his gaze settled on Tim, and whereas before his eyes had been cold and emotionless, now there was pain and fury. He lurched towards them. Tim scooted in front of Tony in the attempt to shield him, although he knew in his heart it would do no good. _What could one kid do against a bullet?_

Just as the man brought the gun up, blue and red lights flashed across the front windows. Tim could hear a squeal of tires that was accompanied by the welcome sound of sirens. The man in the ski mask briefly hesitated before he shakily running down the hall while holding his stomach as he headed towards the back door.

Tim turned away from the retreating figure. Worried about the agent, he said, "Tony, he's gone."

Tony was holding his head; Tim could see there was blood seeping through his fingers. His face was lined with pain. Panic raced through Tim. He didn't know what to do, how to help him.

There was a loud banging on the door followed by a loud shout.

 _"Police! Open up!"_

Before Tim could even get off the floor, the door burst inwards. Two policemen with their guns drawn charged into house.

Tim reflexively raised his hands in surrender. His voice was shaking, "Please help him. He's hurt."

 **~NCIS~**

Taking the final corner almost on two wheels, Gibbs pulled up to his house and slammed on the breaks just as two more police cars pulled up with full lights and sirens blaring. There was already an ambulance at the curb, and he could see that his front door was wide open. Flinging open the car door, he could feel his adrenaline spike as he went into a full sprint while pulling his badge and his gun. He waved his badge at the cop that tried to stop him at the front yard. He could hear Vance behind him hastily explaining, but Gibbs didn't stop. Both Kelly and Shannon's images flashed before his eyes and the crime scene photos he had seen replayed in his head. He took the front steps in one leap.

Gibbs was forced to stop when he was met at the front door by a stretcher with two EMTs talking quickly to each other in medical jargon. On the stretcher was Tony. His senior agent was white as the sheet he was laying on, and his eyes were closed. He appeared frighteningly lifeless.

One of the EMTs looked up and said, "He has a bad head wound, and needs to get to the hospital right away," as they swept past Gibbs.

He heard Ziva gasp out Tony's name behind him. She then said his name, and Gibbs could hear the question within it. He nodded and said, "Go with him. Keep me apprised."

Moving through the front door, he saw two pools of blood that caused his already racing heart to skip a beat. He knew one would be from Tony but did the other belong to Tim?

It was when he looked into the living room that he saw the body. Liam Thomas. He recognized the man from the mug shot photo that was attached to his file. Only now, he had a large blood stain across his chest and a neat hole in the center of his head. His wide-open eyes stared at the ceiling. Gibbs twisted away from the sight. He desperately needed to see his son.

Turning frantically towards the dining room, he finally saw a small figure wrapped in a blanket hunched over on themselves. _Tim._ An officer was squatting next to him and talking in low tones.

"Tim!"

Tim seemed to be in a daze but looked up at the sound of his name. The left side of his face was bruised and he had blood splattered across the right side of his face. His eyes widened and he shot up, running towards him. "Dad," he shouted.

Meeting him halfway, Gibbs grabbed him and pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Tim was okay. Gibbs felt relief course through him. He had almost lost another child. He kissed the top of Tim's head and just held him and tried not to think about what might have been.


	7. Epilogue

**A/N:** This is the last chapter. Thank you so much for everyone who read, left kudos, and reviewed! I am currently working on the next story although real life is super busy right now. Please let me know what you think!

* * *

 **~NCIS~**

 _Epilogue_

That evening, an NCIS team headed up by Agent Cassidy came to take Tim's statement. They were investigating the incident as an NCIS agent and a son of an NCIS agent had been involved. There had also been an FBI agent by the name of Fornell who had tagged along. The FBI was there because they believed it was connected to a case they were trying to build against the Shea family. His father had told him that if he wanted they could question him later, but Tim just wanted to get it over with. Plus, with Tony still unconscious he was the only witness.

His father stayed with him as he recounted his story. Tim told how he had mailed a letter to his mother and that this was how Liam and the masked man had found them. He managed to get through the interview only having to stop once when he spoke of Liam's death. They had given him a few minutes to recover, and then he told the rest. Shortly after, the agents had left to follow up on some leads and hopefully catch the man in the ski mask who they believed worked for the Shea family. The nurse came by giving him some pain meds and something to help him sleep.

Tim tried to get comfortable, but he needed to say something before the medicine pulled him under.

"I'm sorry. I lied to you," Tim said. He felt guilt roll through him and he found he was unable to look at Gibbs.

"Tim, look at me," Gibbs said softly.

Tim didn't want to, but he figured it was the least he could do, after how badly he'd screwed up. His father sat on the edge of the bed near Tim's hip. Tim looked up and saw how sad and tired Gibbs was, and his guilt felt like it was trying to strangle him. This man had done nothing to deserve all of this trouble. Liam was right. He was burden.

"I forgive you for lying, but I do want to know why," Gibbs said with a voice raspy from too little sleep and too much coffee.

Tim sat up straighter, and although he didn't know how his father would take it, he knew it was past time to tell the truth. "I wanted to find my mom. I thought if I could find her, I could convince her to maybe come back and see me."

Gibbs nodded and then said, "I can understand that. I know you care for her deeply. Why didn't you tell me?"

Tim wrestled with his words for a minute before saying, "Because I'm pretty sure you plan on arresting her if you ever track her down. Right?"

"Tim, she left you all on your own, you could've di…," Gibbs said urgently before he stopped and stood up and walked a few steps away before turning back and continuing more calmly, "She broke the law. That has consequences."

"But I didn't die. I'm fine," Tim said earnestly leaning forward intent on convincing his father. "My mom is a good person, but she makes bad decisions when she's high."

"Tim…" His father sounded heartbroken.

He shook his head, interrupting, "No, no, no don't you see. I could help her. If I can convince her to get help then she could get better. Then she would okay. She is so different when she isn't on drugs."

The more worked up he got, the worse his face and stomach hurt, but he needed to make his father understand, so he continued, "She can be so kindhearted. One time, she went all the way across Pittsburgh in the dead of night because I left my backpack at the bus station … and … and … she takes such good care of me when she's sober. I've seen her go without food just so I could eat."

Tim was standing now, although he didn't remember getting out of bed. "She's so smart. Did you know she had a full ride scholarship to Boston University?" He was swaying slightly as the room was starting to tilt.

Gibbs nodded his head as he moved towards him. He gently placed his hands on Tim's shoulders. Guiding him back to bed, he said, "I know."

Tim allowed Gibbs to tuck him into bed, but he needed to say one more thing. With his words starting to slur he said, "I don't want to live with her or anything …" Tim's eyes felt like they had weights attached to them, but he needed his father to know for sure where he wanted to be. "I want to stay with you and grandpa, but … but ... I just need my mom to be okay."

"I understand, Tim. Close your eyes. I'll be here when you wake up," Gibbs said softly.

Tim tried to speak again, but his tongue felt heavy and he was so tired. He wanted this day to be over. Giving his dad a slight nod, Tim closed his eyes. His father's hand gripping his caused Tim to feel safe for the first time that day since he had gone back home to retrieve a present and found Liam instead. He fell asleep almost instantly.

 **~NCIS~**

Tim sat down and tried to tie his shoes but the blossoming bruise on his stomach thanks to Liam was making moving very difficult today.

"Here, let me," Gibbs said kneeling down and quickly tying up both shoes.

"Thank you," Tim said, a bit embarrassed that he couldn't do it. His father gave him a good natured pat on the back as he stood back up.

He had spent the night in the hospital for observation at the behest of his doctors. Tim had been thoroughly checked over and then had spent what was left of the night trying his best to get some rest. Every time he had fallen into an exhausted sleep, he would see Liam being executed by the faceless gunman, hear the body hit the floor, and feel the blood splatter across the side of his face. Each time he had woken up with a gasp, his dad had been there to try to sooth him back to sleep. He had taken comfort in the sight of his dad being a sentinel between Tim and his nightmares.

Standing up just as his grandfather carried a duffle bag through the doorway, Tim wondered about the bag, since his father had brought him a change of clothes yesterday, when Ziva had been visiting. He also noticed that he hadn't been alone since the incident. Tim called it _the incident_ in his head and was trying to avoid thinking about the warmth of the blood running down his face or the feeling of the barrel of the gun against his forehead.

He knew why he hadn't been left alone when he had overheard his dad and Ziva talking. The man in the ski mask had managed to escape in spite of the gut wound. Gibbs was afraid he might come back and finish off Tony and Tim. So they placed a guard on Tony's room when Ziva wasn't able to be there, and Gibbs had been constantly at Tim's side. Tim wasn't too worried, if the man had wanted them dead he could've killed them on the way out.

"Are we ready?" Jackson asked.

Tim nodded before he asked, "What about Tony?" He knew Tony was two stories above the floor they were currently on, same floor as Jude, the intensive care ward. The last he had heard, Tony had been unconscious. Last night, he had been rushed to surgery to reduce the swelling of his brain due to the damage caused by the head injury. The doctor's expected him to recover, eventually, but it was still early, and until Tim talked to him himself, he wasn't going to be able to relax. Tony being hurt was his fault; not only that, but Tony had saved his life. Tim needed him to be okay. Tony was a good guy who had done nothing but try to make him feel part of the family.

Gibbs took the duffle bag from Jackson and said, "Ducky checked with the doctors this morning. They believe Tony will probably wake up sometime today."

Tim opened his mouth to ask about seeing him when Gibbs continued, "I know you want to see him, but you need to get some real sleep and rest. Plus, I figured when he does wake up later we can come back, and visit him and Jude."

Tim nodded. He was very tired; it is hard to get sleep in a hospital even aside from the nightmares. But at the same time, he couldn't imagine going back home and seeing the place where they had almost died, where Liam had been killed. Tim tried to hide his shaking hands by shoving them in his pockets and tried to make his voice strong, but he still stumbled over his words. "We're going back … home."

Gibbs came over and placed a reassuring hand on Tim's shoulder. "Don't worry, we are going to stay at Ducky's for now. Okay?"

Tim nodded shakily, looking down, embarrassed that his father had seen through him.

"Hey," Gibbs said softly, and when Tim reluctantly looked up and met his father's eyes, he didn't see any reproach only understanding. "We are in this together." Those words echoed through Tim's head and harked back to over a month ago, when his father had said almost the same thing in Jackson's living room the weekend they had met, and at the time, he hadn't believed him. Now though, Tim whispered back a shaky "Okay," believing what his father said. He gave him a reassuring smile which Gibbs returned before he was pulled into a hug.

 **~NCIS~**

 _Tap… Tap… Tap_

"Lights out, Ms. Gregory," came a soft yet firm voice on the other side of the door.

Cathy rolled her eyes, but she answered in a faux apologetic tone, "Of course. I'm so sorry. I lost track of time," before she turned her bedside lamp off, placed her book on the nightstand and lay down.

Although it chafed to be told to go to bed like she was a toddler, Cathy didn't want to disobey the rules and risk the chance of getting kicked out. Oceanside Rehabilitation Center was a high-class resort for rich folk with addiction problems and who needed to dry out without anyone finding out, so they were very discreet. Which was exactly what Cathy needed right now. She needed to get clean, and she needed to stay under the radar of both Shea and law enforcement. She wasn't a hundred percent sure if the police were looking for her after what had happened in Kentucky but she wasn't taking any chances. So she was going by the name Kate Gregory, which was close enough to her real name that she was sure to answer, no matter how out of it she was.

She had been scared after visiting Sal, after hearing about Vicky. Vicky was an old acquaintance who Cathy would go to when she needed a fix while they were in Pittsburgh. Vicky was two years younger than her; she had a husband and a child around Tim's age. It had been a wake up call. That could've been her. Between Liam and learning about Vicky, plus with the unexpected windfall with the money, Cathy had finally decided it was time. Thankfully, she was able to get a slot that had opened up unexpectedly.

Although the rehab center had taken a huge chunk of the money that had been in the duffle bag, she still had enough to make a decent start. She had the duffle stashed in a safe place in town. Having it out of her sight made her nervous, but she knew the staff would search her stuff when she arrived, so she'd left it in a storage locker.

Scooting down further into the covers, Cathy passed a hand over her face, as worry settled over her. The money had been a fortunate windfall, but she wasn't Liam, she knew someone was looking for that amount of money, and thanks to the ledger that was included in the bag, she knew who it belonged to: Robert Shea. She honestly couldn't believe it when she had realized whose ledger she had in her hands. Liam's old boss, had always given her the creeps; he was ice cold and ruthless. She had always tried to stay out of his way when Liam had gone to see him.

So the ledger was going to be her insurance policy should Robert Shea catch up to her. There was enough in that ledger to put him in jail for the rest of his life. It was also her get out of jail free card should the police find her as well; she figured she could use it to get a plea deal, should it come to that. But hopefully, she would never need it. She planned to finish up rehab and start a new life with her new name.

She had four weeks left in her stay, and she was determined to work the program. She was also determined not to think of what was at the bottom of the duffle bag under the ledger. But she couldn't help it. The letter from Tim had been an unexpected blow, a distraction from her new life; she didn't need the added stress of thinking about Tim. He was safe and sound with his dad. He was part of her past, better left behind.

But if all of that was true, why couldn't she throw the letter away, and why had she read and reread it until she had it memorized?

Maybe, she should go down to D.C. just to check on Tim. To make sure he was doing as well as he said. She would feel better and finally be able to let him go. Or maybe it would be better to just walk away. Cathy didn't know. She shook her head at her own indecisiveness and rolled over, determined to think of it later; now, it was time to go to sleep.

 **~NCIS~**

Jude pushed the lunch tray away and rolled it off to the side. The food was awful. Things that should be hot were cold and those that should be cold were room temperature. But he had made an effort because, as Dr. Mallard said, rest and nutrition would go a long way to help with recovery.

 _Speak of the devil._

Jude smiled as the Scottish doctor tapped on the door before entering his room. Just like clockwork, Dr. Mallard always showed up after one, when his shift at NCIS was over, except on Thursdays, when he brought Tim with him. He liked that the Doc knocked before coming in-it gave Jude a feeling of some semblance of privacy. Dr. Mallard had been a regular visitor, and Jude appreciated it. The Doc was good company. He told awesome stories about his travels, and he played a mean game of cards. It had been a couple of weeks since Jude had been hurt, and although he was better, he still was in pain. His wounds were on the mend and his hair was thankfully growing back. Jude still had nightmares that kept him from sleeping well, but even those were becoming less frequent.

"Hello Jude," Dr. Mallard said in a cheerful voice as he sat down in one of the two chairs that were available in the utilitarian room. "How are you feeling today?"

Jude gently shrugged, mindful of his injuries, and said, "Actually, today is a good day. They cut down my pain meds so I don't feel so loopy."

Dr. Mallard nodded, and then talked about his day, nothing too graphic, just the day to day stuff that the NCIS crew did. After he had finished a particularly funny story about Jimmy and Abby and a game of Twister that had gone awry, Ducky cleared his throat and shifted a bit. He appeared nervous. "I hear they are releasing you soon."

The smile that had been on Jude's face slowly slid off as he answered in a guarded voice, "That's what they tell me."

Ducky's face shifted from nervous to concerned before he said, "Mrs. Breckenridge has also paid you a visit, from what I understand."

Jude scowled; yeah, she had stopped by and reminded him that he was headed to a group home as soon as he was well enough to do so. He just shook his head and looked away. He caught his reflection in the mirror. Not liking what he saw, he grimaced. His bruises had faded and his hair was starting to cover the scar on the top of his head, but unless he grew his bangs out, there was no way to hide the scar completely, as it extended midway into his forehead. He didn't like the constant physical reminder of what had happened.

"Well, I have also spoken to Mrs. Breckenridge about the possibility of fostering you at my home," Ducky started before he stood, hat in hand. He cleared his throat. "I registered to be a foster parent through her agency, but I wanted to make sure you would be amenable to the plan before it was set in stone. If you would rather go to the group home, that would be good as well, but I wanted you to know you have another option."

Ducky twisting his hat in his hands betrayed his nerves over what he was saying. Jude couldn't believe his ears. Dr. Mallard would want him to live in his house?

"Why?" he asked incredulously. Dr. Mallard knew his history, what he had done to make a living this past year. Jude couldn't make sense of anyone wanting anything to do with him.

Ducky said sympathetically, "Jude, you are a smart young man who's been dealt a difficult hand in life. I believe that given a second chance, you could go far."

Jude highly doubted it, but he knew Dr. Mallard was a kind man who had a big heart, so he could see him taking him on as some sort of charity case. As much as it hurt his pride to be thought of as such, he couldn't turn down the offer either; he really didn't want to live in the group home. If he went there Jude knew he wouldn't stay long, and then he would be right back on the streets, and he never wanted to have that life again.

The silence had stretched on as Jude had contemplated the Doc's offer, and finally, Ducky spoke up. "Also, whether or not you decide to live with me; I would at least like to offer up my services as a tutor. I know from what you told me yesterday that you wish you had your GED. I could tutor you. If you want?"

"You would do that?" Jude asked. A high school diploma would go a long way toward him being able to support himself.

"Of course, my dear boy. Jude you are in need of help, and I have more than enough room at my home since mother passed away. I don't wish to pressure you into anything, so why don't you think about it for a few days?" Ducky said gently sitting back down and rolling the tray back over and taking out the card deck they used.

They had played all sorts of card games but they both seemed to prefer gin rummy. Jude had learned it from his father. They had never had much money, so card games had been an easy way them to pass the time in the evenings.

Jude was only half paying attention to the game, as his mind was going in a million different directions and weighing the pros and cons of Ducky's offer. Within two hands, he knew what his answer would be. Ducky seemed like a trustworthy guy, plus he knew Tim trusted him and spent a lot of time at his house. Also, Jude turned eighteen in a little over a year, so he could leave then if he wanted.

Finally, Jude cleared his throat, "Okay, I'll go to your home. Thank you for doing this for me. I appreciate it." He briefly met the doc's eyes before looking down at his cards.

"I will talk to Mrs. Breckenridge in the morning. You have at least a week before you are due to be released, plenty of time for me to get the guest room ready."

I know it may not seem like it now, but it will be okay," Ducky said kindly, giving Jude's hand a friendly pat, before he discarded two cards and picked up two more from the pile.

Jude gave Ducky a thankful smile. He knew the man was trying to make him feel better, but he figured only time would tell if Ducky's words proved true.

 **~NCIS~**

 _Two weeks later_

Tim stared in horror as Liam slowly stood up. Blood was pouring out of his head wound, running down over his face, drenching his shirt. He backed away slowly as Liam shuffled towards him, "This is your fault."

Shaking his head, Tim cried, stumbled backwards, and slipped through the blood that covered the floor. His heels hit something which caused him to fall backwards and hit the floor. He looked over his shoulder to see what he tripped over and gasped as he saw Tony, eyes wide open and staring sightlessly, a bullet hole in his forehead.

Tim screamed when Tony's head turned towards him and the agent said, "You did this. I'm dead because of you. You are bad luck, Timothy McGee. Everyone who loves you will be hurt, and it will be all your fault."

Shaking his head in denial, Tim sputtered out, "No … I ... didn't ... mean for anyone to get hurt." Sobbing, Tim kept backing up as Liam and Tony dragged themselves towards him.

With a shout, Tim woke up. His heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. The sweat cooling on his skin was causing him to shiver. He swept back the covers and standing on shaky legs, he tried to take in a deep breath. Glancing at the bedside clock, Tim saw it was two in the morning, and he knew there was no way he was going back to sleep now. Grabbing his jacket in order to warm up, Tim left the guest room he had called his own for the last two weeks.

Still trying to shake the nightmare that had woken him up, Tim walked into Ducky's kitchen. It was lit by a small lamp over the sink which provided enough light that you could walk round at night without bumping into anything. He wasn't surprised to see Jude sitting at the table; his friend's sleep patterns seemed to be fairly erratic. Jude blamed the extended stay at the hospital because the nurses were always coming and going at odd times. Tim knew there was more to it than that but hadn't wanted to push. The older boy was eating a sandwich and smiled at Tim as he pushed out a chair in invitation for him to sit down.

Grabbing an apple off the counter and a water bottle out of the fridge, Tim sat down, took a few bites and a long swig of water, and enjoyed the companionable silence. He would miss Ducky and Jude when they moved back home. Gibbs' house was no longer a crime scene, and his dad and Jackson had repaired all of the damage from _the incident_. The thought of home and the remnants of his nightmare easily brought about another thought and Tim could feel himself sinking into the memories of the day once again, hearing Tony hit the ground, feeling the gun barrel against his head …

He felt a warm hand grab his arm, and a loud, "Tim," echoed through the kitchen. Tim jerked in his seat slightly and once again, he was in Ducky's kitchen. He gave a concerned Jude a shaky smile.

"Still having the same nightmare?" Jude asked, letting go of Tim's arm and picking up his sandwich again.

Tim didn't even think about trying to lie to his friend. If anyone would understand, it would be Jude, "Yeah. How about you?" Tim asked, knowing that Jude still had nightmares about the assault.

Jude shifted uncomfortably. The bruises on his face were gone and his friend's hair was now covering most of the scar, but Tim knew it would be a long time for the mental wounds to heal. Tim watched Jude run his fingers over the scar nervously as he hesitated in his answer. Tim had noticed that it had become a habit that his friend had gotten into any time he was anxious. Finally, he lowered his hand and said baldly, "Yes."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Tim asked, "What does Dr. Patterson say to do about them?"

Jude just lifted one eyebrow then said sarcastically, "Probably the same thing he told you."

They had been going to see Dr. Patterson, a child psychologist, every Wednesday. Their appointments were back to back, but they hadn't really talked about it before. "Good point," Tim said with a rueful smile.

Jude finished his sandwich and then said, "You could just talk to Agent DiNozzo."

Tim knew that his repeating dream of Tony being killed was being fueled by his overwhelming guilt of having drawn Liam and his mother's problems down on the heads of his family. "I know," he said. He knew talking to Tony might help but he wasn't sure, so instead he changed the subject.

"How do you like it here?" he asked, trying to sound casual. Getting up and tossing the apple core in the garbage, Tim sighed when the silence lengthened. He sat back down with a knot in his stomach and asked what he really wanted to know. "Are you going to stick around?"

Tim wanted him to stay. Here, Jude would be safe and cared for, and Tim knew Ducky would be a good guardian.

"Yeah. Ducky is a good guy, and now that I am feeling better, we have a meeting with a school counselor to figure out what I actually need to do in order to get my GED." Jude shrugged his shoulder, but Tim could see that he was excited at the prospect.

"Okay, that sounds awesome," Tim said, smiling widely at Jude, and he even received a smile in return from his usually reticent friend.

A wave of affection for the teen sitting across from him rolled through Tim, and he said, "I'm going to miss you."

"Don't be going soft on me, kid," Jude said fondly before he stood and placed his plate in the sink. Walking behind Tim, he gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "Go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Tim called out an amused, "Goodnight." Feeling better, he stood up and grabbed the water bottle, then went up to his room. He should be able to sleep, and he felt more settled, now that he knew what he had to do.

 **~NCIS~**

One hand gripping his duffle bag the other on the staircase rail, Tim trotted down the stairs. Placing the duffle by the hall tree next to his dad's and his grandfathers own bags, Tim took in a deep breath and let it out. Today was the day. They were going back to their house after staying at Ducky's while waiting for their home to no longer be a crime scene and for the necessary clean-up and repairs to be done. Tim was trying to be calm about it. He knew they couldn't stay at Ducky's forever, but he was scared of how he would react walking through the front door. It had been two weeks since the shooting, and he hadn't been back since.

He heard a car pull up, and as he peeked through the side window next to the door Tim saw it was Tony's car. It was around lunchtime, and the whole gang had been invited to Ducky's house as kind of a late Christmas dinner, as they had never gotten a chance to eat the actual one. Grabbing his jacket and quickly putting it on, Tim opened the front door. He snuck out, wanting to talk to Tony alone. Tony had been in the hospital for over a week and had only been released a few days ago, and although Tim had visited him there, he had never been able to talk to the man by himself.

"Hey, Tim," Tony said boisterously with a wide smile on his face as he bounded up the stairs with a covered dish in his hands.

"Hey Tony," Tim said before continuing hesitantly, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Tony stopped and said, "Sure, buddy. What's up?" He followed Tim to one side of the porch and set the food on the bench next to the door.

Looking up at Tony, Tim couldn't help but notice the knit cap the agent was wearing. He knew it was because there was still a large scar running along one side of Tony's head that would need more time to heal.

After clearing his throat, Tim started. "Um, I wanted to apologize …" He stopped, unsure of how to continue as he was starting to choke up.

Now, Tony looked confused and concerned, he said softly, "What do you have to be sorry about?"

Tim looked down and started to pick at some bubbled up paint on the railing. Sniffing he tried to hold back his tears, but his voice was thick with them. "It's my fault you almost died. They would have killed you."

"Tim ..." Tony stood next to Tim and said, "Nothing that happened was your fault."

Tim just shook his head in denial; he knew better. "I shouldn't have sent that letter to my mom. They were able to find me because of it."

"Tim, look at me," Tony said and then waited until Tim wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and looked up at him. Tim was afraid he would see reproach or coldness but he only saw sympathy and understanding.

"I don't blame you for what happened. I blame Liam, the man in the ski mask, and sometimes even your mother. Here's the thing. My father was one Anthony DiNozzo Sr., and thanks to him there is something I had to learn growing up, and it took me a long time to really and truly believe it." Placing one hand on Tim's shoulder and looking him in the eye, Tony said firmly, "Children are not responsible for the actions of their parents."

Tim's brain understood what Tony was saying, but he found it difficult to make his heart believe it. He just kept circling back to the fact that they almost died because he tried to contact his mother. So he looked away and nodded his head. Tears escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. His face crumbled in his sorrow. Tim didn't want to cry anymore, he didn't want to feel sad or guilty or ashamed anymore. He was just so tired.

Tony, sounding heartbroken said, "Tim," and then pulled him into a hug and held him while Tim sobbed unable to stop saying he was sorry. Tony just shushed him and kept telling him "It's not your fault. You're going to be okay."Tim held on tight and tried to believe him.

 **~NCIS~**

By the time they pulled up to the house, it was just after six. The late afternoon light had faded into wintertime darkness. As Gibbs pulled into the driveway, he could see Tim biting his thumb nail in the backseat as he stared out the window. It had been a long couple of weeks between Tim and Tony recovering, Jude settling into Ducky's house, and the time spent cleaning up and repairing the house. Gibbs felt emotionally and physically exhausted.

As they trudged up the walkway, he saw Tim start to slow down. Gibbs came alongside, placing one arm around Tim's shoulders, and they both just stood there. He wasn't going to rush his son. Finally, Tim took a deep breath in and blew it out before giving Gibbs a nod. After squeezing Tim's shoulder, he let go. Unlocking the door, Gibbs then turned off the newly installed alarm and led his son and his father into the house.

Taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hall tree, Gibbs kept an eye on Tim. He saw Jackson doing the same thing hesitating in the doorway to the kitchen. Tim stopped by the stairs. He turned in a slow circle. His eyes stopped briefly on the areas where Liam had been shot and where he and Tony had almost been killed. Then he shook his head as though chasing away the memories. Duffle bag in hand, he gave his father a small smile before jogging up the stairs. Gibbs felt a swell of pride run through him. Tim was a resilient kid, and he knew he would be okay in time.

It was still early, only around seven; Gibbs didn't want everyone to go their separate ways just yet. It had been a while since it had been just the three of them.

So when Tim walked back down the stairs, he said, "It's early yet. Do you want to watch a movie?"

When he saw Tim's face light up, Gibbs was glad he'd brought it up.

Tim asked in an excited voice, "What should we watch?"

"What about the new superhero movie you were talking to Tony about?"

"Really?" Tim said with enthusiasm. He was obviously shocked that Gibbs, who hadn't really expressed much interest in superheroes, would want to watch it.

"Yeah, the way you and DiNozzo were talking about it made me curious," Gibbs said.

Hearing Jackson's chuckle behind him, he turned, and his father said, "That sounds great. I'll make the popcorn."

"I'll go get the DVD. It's in my laptop," Tim said earnestly before he turned and ran back up the stairs.

"Did you remember to plug it in?" Gibbs called up after him. He heard a faint "Yes." drift from the top of the stairs.

Tim had taken to the computer like a duck to water. Abby had given him a tutorial on the basics and then had provided him with more and more in-depth programs to learn. She said he was exceptionally gifted when it came to computers and even thought he could make a career of it one day. Gifted was a word his teachers were using as well. Tim seemed to be soaking up every subject they threw at him, and they had talked of him getting caught up with his peers sooner than expected and that maybe he could even pass them. Gibbs didn't want to push Tim too hard. His course work was more than enough for him as is without putting more on his shoulders, especially with all he had been through. Gibbs tabled those thoughts for another time as Tim came back downstairs with the DVD in his hands gave his dad a wide smile. They both went into the living room just as Jackson returned with the popcorn and some mugs on a tray.

Tim popped in the DVD and Gibbs sat down on one end of the couch, and when Tim chose to sit next to him, he couldn't help but smile a bit when he remembered how Tim had chosen to sit on the floor rather than sit next to him, just a couple of months ago. They were making progress. Every time Tim called him dad, Gibbs felt a joy and contentment he hadn't felt in a long time, not since Kelly and Shannon were alive.

The preview started and everyone grabbed a hand full of popcorn and settled in to watch.

Gibbs was never very interested in previews so his thoughts wondered to the phone call he had received from Fornell and Cassidy earlier this afternoon. It hadn't been good news. The man Tim had stabbed had disappeared; no one with his injuries had showed up in the hospital or the morgue. If he was a part of the Shea syndicate like Fornell thought, he had more than likely been squirreled away by the family. From what they had gathered from Tim and Tony, Cathy had taken off with the money and now was on the run.

 _Cathy_

Gibbs was glad that he no longer had to worry about Liam, but he would have given anything for Tim not to have seen the man's murder. Cathy on the other hand was still out there, and she could still hurt Tim. Not that Gibbs thought she would _physically_ hurt him, but she had neglected him, abandoned and manipulated Tim for so many years. Those were all forms of abuse. Even now, Tim was still defending her, which Gibbs knew was because Tim was so young and had such a big heart. Gibbs didn't want Tim's mom to use that against their son anymore. Gibbs was determined to protect Tim with his life if need be. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that, because he wanted to stay and live this life with his family, both the family that was with him-his father and Tim-and the extended family that the team had become to the three of them.

As the title flashed across the screen, Gibbs was brought out of his thoughts, and he asked, "Why is it Batman versus Superman? I thought they were both in the Justice League?"

Tim took his eyes off the screen and said, "That's the next movie, but in this one, they are at odds. You see it all started …"

Settling deeper into the couch, Gibbs listened intently as Tim explained the various ups and downs of Clark and Bruce's relationship; Jackson surprised him with his own knowledge on the subject. Gibbs pushed all other thoughts of Cathy, Shea, and what the future might hold, out of his mind. He wouldn't allow them to ruin this moment. His family deserved his full attention.

 **The End**


End file.
